Clan of the Slytherin Cave Bear
by Ayla L
Summary: It isn't easy being a muggle-born Slytherin. Ayla knows this firsthand. It isn't easy being in love with your Potions Professor, either. *A Snape/OC story* This is not a crossover with Jean Auel's books! Pure Harry Potter!
1. Enter Ayla

All was quiet at the Weasley house, though it would not be for long.  Soon, Mrs. Molly Weasley would awaken, crawl out of the bed she shared with her husband, Mr. Arthur Weasley, silently creep downstairs, and start breakfast.

Breakfast that morning would be waffles, eggs, porridge, sausage, and toast, she had already decided.  Sunny side-up for herself and Arthur, benedict for her sons Bill and Percy, Omelets for Charlie and Ron (Charlie's with cheese and bacon, Ron's plain), Scrambled for Fred, George, and Ginny, and no eggs for Ayla, who was the only one in the house without the Weasley freckles and hair.

Ayla was not a Weasley.

Ayla Landau was Bill's best friend of six years.  Ever since they had met in their first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, they had been inseparable, give or take a handful of spats and falling outs.

And so it was that Ayla, who had spent the last two weeks of summer holidays at the Burrow, the Weasley's small but cozy abode, was the first child to awaken and meet Molly in the kitchen.

"Morning, Mrs. Weasley," she said sleepily, stifling a yawn.  She walked into the room wearing a muggle outfit that looked completely out of place at the Weasley's magical home.

"Good Morning, dear," Molly replied cheerfully as Ayla sat at the table.  "Could you help me with breakfast?"

Ayla, who had had her head down on the table, looked up and nodded.  "All right.  What do you want me to do?"  She yawned as she stood.

"Could you get glasses for everyone?"  Ayla reached for her wand, but Molly reached out and grabbed her hand.  "Not yet, dear.  School starts tonight, you can wait a few more hours."

Ayla nodded and went to get cups from the cabinet, still blinking sleep out of her eyes.   A few minutes later Percy entered the room, looking smart in neatly pressed robes.  "Morning, Mum.  Morning, Ayla," he said, his small freckled face hidden behind his huge glasses.  

Percy was only nine, but he was the neatest, smartest, most pompous nine-year-old in the world.  He already had goals to be Minister of Magic, and he had read every book in the house thrice over.

"Good morning, Percy," Molly said, giving her son a kiss on the head. 

"Morning, Lexicon," Ayla said under her breath as Percy passed by her.  He shot her an angry look and stuck out his tongue.  She laughed and rolled her eyes.  Percy was so easy to rile up.

"Really, Percy, I thought you were past that stage," came a voice from the side of the kitchen.  Charlie stepped into the room, ruffled Percy's hair, and sat at the table next to him.  "Morning, Mum. Morning, Ayla," he said, blushing.  Charlie had a bit of crush on the blonde.

"Good morning," Molly said distractedly, now concentrating on getting all of her family fed.

"Do I smell eggs?" said Arthur, coming into the kitchen and kissing his wife on the cheek.  "Good morning, all."

They responded with varying levels of enthusiasm as more people arrived in the kitchen.  

"Me first!"

"No!  Me!"

"Ro-on, lemme go first!"

"I'm older, I'm better!  I get to go first!"

"If you two don't move," came an amused voice from the hallway, "I'm going to eat both of your breakfasts."

The two youngest Weasley children came running into the room horrified and leapt into their seats.  Ron and Ginny, ages five and four, respectively, fought over anything and everything.  Ginny waved shyly at Ayla, while Ron grinned at her with a hole in his mouth from a lost tooth.

"Hello, Ayla!" he exclaimed, waving at her.  "Will you do the air—airplane thingy again today?"  Though Ron had no idea what an airplane was, Ayla often picked him up and zoomed him around the room like an "airplane."

"Me too!" Ginny added, quickly looking down at the table, embarrassed.  She was loud and obnoxious, but shy as anything when she wanted to be.

Bill followed directly behind them.  He sat on Ayla's right and put his head on the table.

"Tired, are we?" she mocked, patting his head.

He lifted his head.  "Yes."  He put it down again.

Two identical redheads entered the room at that moment, nearly knocking over their mother, who was busy sending plates of food to the table with her wand.

"Ayla, Ayla!" they were yelling as they sprinted.  "What color are your eyes today?"

Ayla grinned.  Ayla could not see without her glasses or contact lenses.  She had many different colors of lenses—blue, brown, green, violet, even black—and no one, not even Bill, knew her natural eye color.  The twins, Fred and George, made their predictions about what color she would be wearing that day when they woke up, and the winner got a sickle.

"Violet today, kids," she said.  "Which one of you wins?"

They looked disappointed.  "Neither of us," said George sadly.  "I picked green and Fred picked brown."

"Can we still have a sickle?" Fred asked hopefully.

She laughed and shook her head.  "Of course not!  You didn't get the color right, did you?"

"Don't worry about the money," Molly said sternly as their food appeared in front of them.  "Eat, so we can get Bill, Charlie, and Ayla to their train on time."

"Oh, I forgot," Percy said, "it's the first."

They all dug in and hurriedly ate, while the topic turned towards the new teachers.  As a Ministry of Magic employee, Arthur had some inside information as to the governing of Hogwarts.

"I'm telling you," he was saying, "some of the governors were not happy of the appointment of the new Potions teacher.  He's to be the new head of Slytherin, you know."

Ayla looked up, interested.  "Really?  What's he like?"

Arthur frowned.  "Well, he was a Slytherin at school, if memory serves me correctly—way after my time, of course, but I remember hearing about him.  Very proud man, stubborn and ambitious.  Dumbledore thinks highly of him, though."

"Well, you two should get along swimmingly," Bill said to Ayla, smirking.

"Not all Slytherins are from the same mold, you know," she told him crossly.  "All Gryffindors, however, are arrogant snobs that strut around like they're better than the rest of the universe."

The entire room turned to glare at her.

"I speak only the truth," said innocently, spreading her hands in a gesture of peace.  She smiled sweetly at the expressions on their faces.  "You can't deny that it's true."

"Severus Snape can't be any older than twenty-six," Molly said, quickly changing the subject before a fight broke out.  "I wonder what kind of teacher he'll be."

Charlie snorted into his porridge.  "Severus Snape?  Who names their kid Severus Snape?"

"The same sort of people who name their children Charles Leonid Jacobus Pinter Weasley," Ayla replied, yawning.

Charlie's freckles blended together.  "Ayla Landau isn't so great either."

"Quite the contrary," she said, not missing a beat, "I happen to like my name.  I like to think I'm named for a character in a wonderful book about Neanderthals and Cro-Magnons."

Charlie stared at her.  "Neander-whats?"  
            

"Early ape-like creatures from whom it said humans may descent from," said Percy in monotone, sounding like a Dictionary.

Charlie still stared at Ayla.  "Excuse me?"

She shrugged.  "They're fabulous books."

"Can I borrow one?" Percy asked, a bit upset to find there was a fabulous book he hadn't read yet.

"No!" said Molly, looking sternly at her son.  "No one under the age of eighteen should be reading those books!"

All eyes turned to face Ayla. 

She shrugged.  "I'm really twenty-three."

"Really?" asked Ron, in unison with Ginny's "Wow!"

Bill shook his head.  "Ayla, stop lying to the children."

"Who's lying?" she demanded, getting up from the table.  "I am twenty-three.  I'm doing the Michael Jackson thing—you know, I'm going to molest the first-years."

"You are disgusting, do you know that?" Bill said, looking slightly ill.

"I prefer to think of it as creativity."

"I prefer to think of it as insanity."

"What's so fabulous about being normal?"

"Do you have a retort for everything?" Percy asked, incredulous.

Ayla flashed him a grin.  "Of course.  Basic Slytherin training."

"Go Ayla!" Ginny exclaimed, immediately turning red and covering her mouth.

Ayla held back a laugh.  "Thanks, kid.  Glad to know there's someone in this family who supports me."

"Lovely and entertaining as this is," interrupted Arthur, "we really need to get going if you three are going to Hogwarts this year."

"Let's go then," Charlie said, swallowing the last of his orange juice.  "Let me just go grab my trunk."

"I have to go get mine, too," Bill said, running up the stairs after his brother.

"Mine's right here," Ayla said, patting her right front pocket in her jeans.

Molly frowned.  "Ayla, not again!  Did you get a notice?"

The underage witch nodded.  "More than one, but they never expel me."  She seemed very pleased with herself for getting away with that.

Molly shook her head.  "You know you aren't allowed to use magic over the summer."

"Why not?  That's the most absurd rule I've ever heard, save Professor Binn's 'no using colored ink' rule.  I mean, why does it matter if my notes are in black or green?  As long as I can read them, why does he care?"  Ayla shook her head.  "Ridiculous, the lot of it."

Molly tutted.  "Come now, Ayla, you have to do what the teacher says…"

"Oh, I do what he says," she said offhandedly.  "I've no desire to be expelled.  I merely think it's unreasonable."

"Hey Landau!" yelled a voice from the top of the stairs.  "Were you planning on leaving Ea and Enkidu?"

Ayla sprinted up the stairs so that she wouldn't leave the aforementioned Ea and Enkidu.  Ea was her cat, her black cat with the green eyes that glowed in the dark.  Ayla loved her little kitten more than anything, and the name Ea, while odd, seemed to fit the cat.  Enkidu was Ayla's guitar.

Enkidu was 230 pounds worth of acoustic godliness.  She had gotten it at a pawnshop in downtown London, and she never ceased to thank the gods for leading her to that particular store.  For there, in her very own hands, she had held Enkidu for the first time.  The wonderful Guitar signed by John Lennon, Ozzie Osborne, and Roger Waters.  Apparently the man who had owned the instrument had been in the music business, and sold the guitar to this shop.  And it had been sitting there for over a decade.  Ridiculous.

After the 100 pounds needed to repair, restring, and clean the guitar, she owed her parents 130 pounds and was the proud owner of, in her opinion, the best damned guitar in the world.  

She had picked the name Enkidu herself.  She had found the Epic of Gilgamesh lying around the house, and upon reading it, decided that she wanted to name her cat Enkidu.  Of course, she later decided that Ea was a far better name for a cat, and shelved the name Enkidu away in her mind.  So three years later, when she attained her holy guitar, she christened it Enkidu, and it had served her faithfully ever since.

Ayla maintained the idea that Enkidu and her were destined to be together, as no one bought the guitar during the ten years it was sitting in the shop.  Bill maintained the idea that she was slightly off her mark, and that her obsessing over her guitar would land her in St. Mungo's one day.

Her passion for Enkidu, however, was dismal compared to her love for, in her opinion, the best damned _current _band in the world.

U2.

She had every single one of their albums—including the singles—and multiple posters of the band members hung in her room at home and at Hogwarts.  She had even asked Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, to magic a Walkman so that she could listen to the music at school.  

Bill had grudgingly found himself liking U2's music as well, and when Ayla took up guitar, he decided to learn as well.  Ayla quickly suggested he get a bass guitar, as they were easier to play.  Bill agreed, and saved up enough money to buy a decent used one.  He rarely played it anymore, though, and Ayla was teaching him how to play her guitar as well.

So Ayla slung Enkidu's case over her shoulder, grabbed Ea's cage, and walked out the door of Ginny's room.  Being the only girl in the family, Ayla was forced to sleep with the four-year-old, who rambled on and on at night, despite her shyness during the day.

She walked over to the taxi that the Weasley's had called.  Making sure that nothing was going to be on top of it, she gently put Enkidu in the trunk.  She slid into the back seat next to Bill, who was already settled, his owl on his lap.

Ea hissed at Hopps, the owl, and Ayla had to move her cage away.  "Ea," she scolded, "how many times do I have to tell you _not_ to mess with Hopps, hmm?  We all know you're better than him, but haven't you rubbed it in his face enough?"

Bill scowled and moved Hopps away from Ea.  "Don't listen to her, Hopps.  She's just mad because Ea can't deliver letters."

"What's the point of having an owl when your parents are muggles?" Ayla said, shrugging her shoulders.  "Besides, it's easier to just steal yours."

"At least I have someone to write to!" Bill protested, getting red in the face.

"Who, your secret girlfriend?"  Bill blushed even redder, if at all possible.  "We all know about your crush on Peary, Weasley."

Professor Juliet Peary was the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts.  Nearly every male above the age of fourteen was madly in love with her.  Bill was no exception.  

"I do not have a crush on Professor Peary!" Bill exclaimed, red as a tomato.  

"Then why did I find scraps of parchment filled with poetry under your bed, hmm?"  Bill froze.  "You ought to pursue a career as an author, you're quite good."

Charlie snickered as he climbed in next to Ayla.  "You write poetry?"  
  


Bill just mumbled incoherently.  Ayla patted his back in mock sympathy.  

"Don't worry, mate," she said with a grin, "I heard that Pinter Wood has a framed picture of her on his dorm wall."

This didn't seem to make Bill feel any better.

Charlie looked confused.  "Pinter has a picture of who on his wall?"

"Peary," Ayla answered as Bill went red again.  "It seems every male is under her spell."

"I'm not," he replied, looking smug.

"That's because she doesn't have a dick," Bill said miserably.

Charlie glared at his brother.  "I am not gay, Bill!" he said.  He looked up at Ayla, then quickly focused his eyes on the ground.  "I'm just interested in someone else, that's all."

"Yeah, someone with blonde hair and who just happens to be sitting right next to you," Bill taunted, watching his brother blush.

"Shut-up!" he said, his voice cracking at the end.  Bill laughed.

"Don't be mean to your brother," Arthur scolded, getting into the front beside the taxi driver.  Molly leaned in and kissed Charlie on the forehead.  "Keep out of trouble, you three.  And be nice to the new teacher!" 

Percy showed his face next.  "Send me a book, will you?"

Ayla nodded.  "Sure.  How about _Pompous Nine-Year-Olds and their Accomplishments_?"

Percy reddened and stepped away from the car amid gales of laughter.  Next were George and Fred.

"Bye!" they said in unison.  "Will you buy us some dungbombs from Hogsmeade?"

Charlie nodded.  "Of course."

They brightened.  "Thanks!"  

Ron merely waved from the lawn, and Ginny was crying hysterically.  "I wanna go!" she was screaming.

"Bye!" they all yelled as the cab pulled away.

Ayla settled into her seat, and soon was asleep.  When she awoke, they were already at the train station.  Ayla handed the driver the correct change (Arthur was horrible at anything muggle-related, though he fancied himself an expert), grabbed Enkidu from the back, and set off towards the barrier.

"Stay out of trouble," Arthur lectured.  "Make sure to owl us regularly.  You too, Ayla.  And behave."  He looked at the sternly.  After hugging them all, he sent them off.  "And look after Charlie!" he yelled as the children walked casually through the solid wall, eager to get onto the train.

"I don't need to be looked after," Charlie muttered, frowning. 

"He's a father," Ayla said, ruffling his hair.  "We know you can take care of yourself."

Charlie blushed and didn't answer.  

Charlie and Bill dragged their trunks up to the scarlet train.  "Next time," Bill said, panting, "I'm shrinking mine like you did."

Charlie nodded in agreement, sitting on the top of his trunk.

"Come on, guys," Ayla said, looking at her watch.  "The train's going to leave any minute."

The boys finally got their trunks onto the train, though not without Ayla's help.  They walked around for a bit, trying to find an empty compartment.  After dumping Charlie with his friends, Bill and Ayla managed to find a compartment at the back of the train that was secluded.  

Bill stretched out on two seats, and Ayla lay down on the floor so that she was looking up at him.  She reached into her pocket and pulled out her small magicked walkman.  She attached a mini speaker to it, put in the newest U2 album, and turned the volume nearly all the way up.

"What's this?" Bill asked, frowning.  "I haven't heard it before."

"_Joshua Tree_," she answered, nodding her hand to the music.  "Just came out last month.  Bono plays the harmonica."

Bill nodded.  "Not bad.  I still think that their earlier stuff is better."

Ayla shrugged.  "It's all good.  Not Pink Floyd, but good nonetheless."

He shook his head.  "I will never understand your love for old music."

"I'll just take away your Black Sabbath tapes then, shall I?"  She grinned as he reddened slightly.  He didn't answer.

 She settled back so that she was leaning against Enkidu's case.  "So, looking forward to a good year?"

Bill sighed.  "Yes. Anything to get out of the mad house that is the Burrow."

Ayla laughed.  "I happen to like your family."

He made a face.  "Come on, they're horrible."

"No they aren't," she said, sitting up slightly so that she was leaning against the back of the seat opposite Bill.  "I like the craziness.  In my opinion, it's oddly refreshing."

Bill snorted.  "In my opinion, you're insane."

"When I want your opinion, I'll give it to you," she said without missing a beat.

He glared at her.  "Every time.  Every time I think I've one-upped you, you come back with some stunning response."  He reached in his bag and pulled out a bag of sandwiches. 

"Years of living in the same room as Penny Lane," she said, smirking at him.

"I've always wondered," Bill said, almost as if he was just thinking aloud, "is she named for—"

"The song?  Yes."  Ayla chuckled.  "Apparently her mother had an interesting experience with a couple of hippies."

Bill choked on the sandwich he was eating.  "That's rich," he said, laughing so hard bits of corned beef and wheat bread went flying.  "How did you find out?"

A slow smirk came over her features.  "Let's just say that a couple of birds told me, hmm?"  She brushed bits of food off her shirt.  "And say it, don't spray it."

A knock on the door announced the arrival of the lady with the cart.  Ayla grabbed her change purse and headed out to the corridor.  Seven sickles and two knuts later, she came back with arms full of treats.

"Here you go," she said, dumping them on the floor.  "Help yourself." 

Bill sat up and grabbed a Cauldron Cake.  "Thanks, Landau.  You're awfully generous for a Slytherin."

She grinned as she took a piece of gum from the pile.  "You've rubbed off on me, Weasley.  I need to go cleanse myself of all the Gryffindor grime.  Actually," she said thoughtfully, "I haven't meditated for a while.  Maybe tonight I'll light a couple candles and do some serious thinking."

Bill groaned.  While most of the Wizarding world now followed the Christian muggle religion, the truth was that the ancient mages were pagans.  When Ayla discovered this, she went on what she called a sabbatical in the library.  She was now a devout Wiccan, though she did hide it from most people.  Molly Weasley, for example, would faint if she knew her son's best friend was polytheistic.

"Whatever," he said.  "Just leave me out of it."

Ayla nodded.  "I'm not a crusader.  I'm not trying to convert you."

"Whatever."

Silence hung in the air for a time.  Suddenly the compartment door slid open and in walked one of the only people both Bill and Ayla hated with the same passion.

Penny Lane.

"Why, if it isn't William Weasley and Ayla Landau, the Slytherin muggle.  How cute."

Bill frowned at the use of his full name.  "What do you want, Penny?" he asked, not looking at her.

She shook her long, dark hair.  "Why, nothing, Weasley.  Just wanted to see how my two favorite outcasts were doing."

Ayla threw a Cauldron Cake at her.  "Go to hell, Lane."

Penny glared at her.  "Watch it, Landau.  I could make your life miserable."  She looked at her ten perfectly manicured nails and sighed.

"You already do," Ayla said, taking a book out of Bill's bag.  "I have to see you every morning when I wake up.  Completely ruins any thoughts of having a good day."

"At least I have friends!" the girl yelled, trying not to lose her temper.

"And what do you think Bill is, my pet cat?"  Ayla stood up and walked over to the girl.  "Please, get out."

"I almost feel sorry for you, Landau.  It must be horrible being a muggle, and it must be even worse to know your only friend has to buy his clothes and a second-hand shop because his father can't get a job."  Penny smirked as Bill went red and jumped up.

"You watch what you say about my family, you wench!" he yelled, grabbing his wand. Ayla grabbed the end of his jacket and pulled him back.

"She's not worth it, Bill," she said, barely able to control her own temper.  "Just leave her, with her petty insults."

"Petty?"  Penny laughed.  "It's the truth, Landau.  Surely you've seen his house?  Tell me, do they all really sleep in one room?"

Bill started towards her again, but this time Ayla stood up as well.  "Get out.  Now.  Before I hex you to the moon."

Ayla went back and sat on the floor, and Bill warily followed her example, seating himself on the seat.

Penny smirked at them, ignoring Ayla's command to leave.  "Why aren't you sitting next to your boyfriend, Landau?" she asked, scrunching up her dainty nose.

"Because he has cooties," she said, reaching for another piece of gum.  "And I don't want to catch 'em."

"Cooties?" Penny said nervously.  "Those aren't real!" 

"Don't sound so sure of yourself, do you?" Ayla said, winking at Bill.  

Bill took that as his cue.  "They're not real in the magical world, true."

Penny sighed in relief.  "Then I would I be—"

"However," Ayla interrupted, "they _are_ real in the muggle world.  And when Bill came to visit me this summer, he caught them from my mother."

Penny's discomfort was visible.  "Is—is it a bad disease?" she asked, trying to appear calm.

Ayla cocked her head in mock thought.  "Well," she said thoughtfully, "to muggles, no.  See, there are medications you can take to get rid of them."

Penny frowned.  "Then why doesn't—"

"However," Ayla interrupted again, "since most Wizards don't know about them, there is no magical cure.  And since it's really hard to get the medication if you aren't a doctor…"  Ayla trailed off, shaking her head.  "Bill has to wait it out."

Bill sighed and nodded, trying to look as pathetic as possible.  

Penny was slowly backing away from Bill, as though seeing him would get her sick.  

"But it's all rather hush-hush," Ayla went on, stopping Penny from leaving, "so we'd appreciate it if you wouldn't tell anyone.  All right?"

Penny nodded wordlessly and all but ran into the corridor.  As soon as she was out of sight, the two friends let out barely contained gales of laughter.

"That was great!" Bill said enthusiastically, giving her a high-five.  "How did you think of that?"

"When I was eight, every boy had cooties," she said, shrugging her shoulders.  "And that's why no one wanted to sit next to the boys.  Her comment made me think of that."

"Well, it was wonderful."  His face fell.  "But now everyone's going to think I have this deadly disease!" he said miserably.

She shook her head.  "The way I see it, she'll tell everyone she can find.  All of the houses except for Slytherins have enough muggle-borns to know that there's no such thing as cooties.  So the only people who'll avoid you are Slytherins.  With any luck, they'll avoid me too."

Bill slowly nodded.  "Makes sense.  Hey," he said, suddenly struck by a seemingly wonderful idea, "why don't you ask for a house switch?"

"Because I like it in Slytherin, unbearable and prejudiced as some of the people are," she said coldly.  "There are some all right ones, like Alex and Pandora.  The ones whose families weren't Dark Lord supporters."  She glared at him.  "I don't want to switch."

"But why?" he pressed, not sensing her anger, despite her obvious glare.

"Because Slytherins are the only people who understand my ambition and motto," she said, her tone of voice soft and dangerous.

"Which is?" Bill said, beginning to catch on to her irritation.

"The ends justify the means."  She narrowed her eyes at him.  "And that, my friend, is what separates the Gryffindors from the Slytherins."

**A/N:  I'd like to thank some people: Thanks to Tammy, for owning that wonderful shirt that says, "when I want your opinion, I'll give it to you;" thanks to Monica, for forcing me to read _Clan of the Cave Bear_, , thank you to Laura, for reminding me that college is still school, and thanks to Sarah, for being crazy, stupid, and loveable.**

**Disclaimer:  ****Disclaimer: In no way, shape, or form do I wish anyone to recognize any characters found in the Harry Potter books as belonging to anyone other than J.K. Rowling, publishers such as Bloomsbury Books, Raincoast Books, Schoolastic Books, or Warner Brothers, Inc. I do not own characters found in any published works, and can claim only Ayla Landau and Penny Lane at the moment, and some others that will be introduced later.******


	2. Midnight Encounters

Ayla frowned as she surveyed the Slytherin table.  There was Penny Lane and her crowd, which included Ravina Lucalus, Corina Pollum, and other mindless zombies that kissed the ground she walked on.  Further down was Oscar Jungalar, Penny's boyfriend, and his crowd.

Pandora Boxer leaned followed her gaze and sighed.  "What I wouldn't give to date Oscar Jungalar."

Ayla blanched.  "Pan, you've got to be kidding me.  That's disgusting."  She reached for the vegetable medley of sorts, sighing.  The carnivorous meals at Hogwarts really did not suit one who ate no read meat.  Birds and fish were fine, but anything that walked on four legs and said, "Moo," was strictly not kosher with Ayla.

Alexander Pole had a look of similar disgust on his face.  "Really, Pandora, that's horrible."

Pandora glared at them.  "I've decided that you're a lesbian, Ayla.  You have no interest in males what-so-ever!"  She spooned some of the disgusting processed cow onto her plate, not noticing Ayla's look of disgust.

"That's not true," Alex pointed out.  "Do you remember when Bono got married?"

Pandora rolled her eyes.  "God, she was crying for a week."

 "I was not crying for a week," Ayla muttered angrily.  "Besides, I was twelve!  It was one of those childish crushes on your favorite celebrity."  She glared at Pandora.  "At least I have taste," she said.  "Really, Pan, Jungalar?"  

She shrugged.  "You can't deny that he's incredibly handsome."

"I wouldn't know.  Every time I get too close to him I back away from the horrible stench of cruelty."

Alex sniggered as Pandora got red around the cheeks.  "That was mean, Landau."

Ayla shrugged.  " I speak only the truth."

"Hey," Pandora said suddenly, changing the subject, "who's the hottie at the Head Table?"

Rolling her eyes at her boy-crazy friend, she turned to look at the Head Table.  What she saw made her catch her breath.

Pandora had not been lying.  The man at the Head Table was indeed quite handsome.  He was tall and thin, though not scrawny.  He had sleek hair the color of night, and his eyes were dark as well.  He wore all black, adding to the effect.  He looked good enough to eat.

Alex poked her in the side.  "Ayla?  Ayla?"  He shook his head.  "I think we've lost her."

Ayla turned around.  "What?"  She looked at the teacher again.  "Oh, what were you saying about Jungular?"

"Nothing," Pandora said with a smirk.  "We were talking about that guy at the Head Table.  You know, the one you were drooling over?"  
  


"I do not drool, Boxer.  Especially over men."  Ayla glared at her.  "Who is that?"

"I don't know," Alex said, "but he must be pretty damned special to grab your attention."      

Pandora laughed, but Ayla was too busy studying the new teacher to notice.   "He looks like Bono," she said, almost dreamily, noticing his dark eyes as they surveyed the room.  He looked rather bored, she decided, and unimpressed.

Pandora shook Ayla's shoulder.  "Now I'm worried.  You never get like this over a man.  Ever!"

"What about Bono?" Alex asked, failing to understand what was so special about this new teacher.

"He's a rock star," Pandora said, waving an impatient hand at him, "he doesn't count.  This guy is actually someone she could talk to."

"If you two are done discussing the wonders of my non-existent love life," Ayla said loudly, giving them evil looks, "I've no interest in the man up there.  He looks far too surly for my tastes.  And his nose is too hooked."  He had a bit of a Jewish nose---something her mother would love, so he was strictly out of the question.  

Pandora and Alex exchanged looks.  "Really?"

"Yes, really!" she snapped, glaring at the two.  "And I don't want to hear anymore about it!"

Honestly, how could she let herself get so caught up with a man?  He was only one man, and not even that handsome…except for his eyes, which were so dark and deep they sucked you in; and his hair, which glistened in the dim candlelight; and his tall, lean figure that made you catch your breath…other than that, he was quite ugly.  

Alex and Pandora were still stifling laughs as Dumbledore stood to talk.  "Now that you have all eaten your full," he said, old and twinkling eyes looking out over the room, "I have some announcements to make.

"All students should take care to remember that the Forbidden Forest was not named for its friendly rabbits," the Headmaster said, turning his head towards the Gryffindor table, where Charlie was slowly turning red.  Charlie had an odd fetish with animals that Care of Magical Creatures alone could not feed, and his nightly excursions into the forest gave him quite a few detentions, much to Molly Weasley's distaste.  Ayla had learned to bring earplugs to breakfast on mornings soon after Charlie's breaches of the rules

"Also, there should be no magic in the corridors between classes," he continued, his smile now turned on some other student.  "And, due to some---er---_unfortunate_ circumstances, Slytherin House is now without a Chaser and a Seeker.  Gryffindor also needs a Seeker and a Keeper.  Anyone interested should see Madame Hooch."

"Yeah," Alex whispered to Pandora and Ayla, "unfortunate circumstances that involved Flint and Lucas getting suspended for failing all of their classes."  

Penny Lane gave them glares as they sniggered.  

"We have a new teacher this year," Dumbledore said, speaking again.  "Replacing Professor Liam, who, unfortunately, has to have some work done on his face---"

"Stupid idiot couldn't make a Potion right if all he had to do was stir it," Ayla said under her breath, causing sniggers from Alex and Pandora.

"—and his replacement, I think, will be a marvelous addition to the staff.  Please welcome Professor Snape," he said, nodding to the man on his right.

Bono-look-alike stood up and briefly nodded his head before immediately seating himself again.  Ayla raised her eyebrow.  "He's going to be Head of Slytherin?"

Pandora grinned.  "I bet Ayla's going to have some fun this year," she said, nudging her in the side."

Ayla rolled her eyes and looked across the room.  She caught Bill's eye and grinned.  He smiled back and waved.  She yawned.

"Are you coming?" Alex asked, grabbing her shoulder.

"Hmm?" she asked, turning around.

"Let's go, unless you want to sleep in the Great Hall tonight," Pandora said with a laugh, pulling Ayla to her feet.

"Yeah, I figured the tables would be comfortable," she said, following them out of the Great Hall.

"You were looking at that Weasley guy," Pandora said, nudging Ayla.  "He's not bad, if you like freckles."  They had reached the secret entry into the Slytherin Common room, and Ayla breathed in the musty air and sneezed.

Ayla sighed.  "Pandora, believe it or not, I do not rank every male I see on a scale of one to ten.  And even if I did, I wouldn't do that for Bill.  He's my best friend.  I've seen him in his knickers!"

She could never think of Bill that way, could she?  After all, they had been friends for so long…she knew nearly everything about him, and vice-versa, to a point.  He even knew when she got her monthly, and knew when not to get on her nerves, for Ayla was known to get horrendous PMS.

The point was, Bill was too much like a brother.  A brother who happened to be rather cute, with his freckles and all, but a brother no less.  Cute in a brotherly sense, that was.  Like Charlie was cute, in a little kid away.  

"Really?"  Pandora grinned.  "Well?  Don't keep it all to yourself!"

Alex rolled his eyes.  "If you two are going to spend the entire night gossiping about Bill Weasley's washboard abs, I'm leaving." 

Ayla snickered.  "He most certainly does _not _have washboard abs, the poor scrawny thing.  And Alex, I'm actually going to go strum a little, so you and Pandora can talk about whatever you want."

Alex grabbed her arm.  "Don't you dare leave me alone with her when she's like this," he whispered.  "Last time, she made me listen to the poems she had written for Jungular.  There were forty-seven of them.  Forty-seven!"

Ayla shrugged off his arm and ran up to her room to get Enkidu.  Penny was lying out on her bed, reading the latest _Witch Weekly_.

"Look at this," she was saying to Ravina, who was next to her on the bed, "a muggle band, getting band of the year!  Honestly!  And they expect us to buy tickets to their concert?  And who would listen to someone who calls himself Bono Vox?"

Ayla froze.  "Lane, let me see that magazine."

Penny clutched it to her.  "No!"  She thought for a moment.  "Why?"

"Because I want to wipe my ass with it," she said in frustration.  "Just let me see it."

Penny reluctantly handed it over.  "Here.  But I want it back."

Ayla hurriedly skimmed the article.  "Bono Vox, lead singer of the muggle band U2…best band of the year, despite being muggle…the bass guitarist is actually a wizard, who dropped out of school to gain his magical education…tour in the UK soon…dates to be announced…"

Inside was a foldout picture that took up three pages of the whole band.  And it was moving!  Bono waved to her, and The Edge winked. 

Ayla grinned, trying to keep a lid on her emotions.  "Lane, can I have this foldout?"

Penny grabbed the magazine.  "No!"  She thought for a moment.  "Why?"

"Because I happen to like the band in question," she said calmly.  "Now please, can I just have it?"

Penny scoffed.  "You mean you've actually heard of this, 'U2'?"  She brandished the magazine at her like a wand.

"Yes, actually."  She grabbed Enkidu's case.  "And don't worry about, I'll just take Pan's."

It was true.  Pandora also read _Witch_ _Weekly_.  It was amazing that Pandora and Penny were so alike, but could never be friends.  Their fathers had chosen their paths for them.

As she walked out of the Common Room, she waved to Alex and Pandora, who were sitting near the fire.  Pandora waved back enthusiastically, while Alex shot her an evil glare.

She walked into the room in the dungeons she used to practice.  She took Enkidu out of its case, set it on her lap, and began tuning it.  After it was all tuned up, she just plucked a couple of strings idly.

"What should I play tonight?" she asked herself, still strumming.  

"So you say you want a revolution…"

The song, apparently, had chosen her.  So she sang.  It was a good thing that no one was around, because she did not have the best voice.  She could carry a tune, occasionally, but she was no Madonna. 

   "That sounded horrible," she aloud after she was finished.  "Usually I sound better…wonder how _Moon Dance_ will sound…"                

  As it turned out, _Moon_ _Dance _sounded fabulous.  It was easy to play, though it always sounded better when she convinced Bill to play along with her.  Anything sounded better with more than one guitar.

Ayla looked at her watch and yawned.  Nearly midnight.  

"Bed sounds like a wonderful idea at the moment," she said, putting Enkidu back in its case. 

"Oh, but I was enjoying your little session so much," came a male voice from the doorway.

Ayla nearly dropped Enkidu.  She turned slowly, praying that it wasn't Oscar Jungular.  When she saw who it was, however, she thought she might've preferred Jungular.              

It was Professor Snape.

He was leaning against the doorjamb with a small smirk on his face, seemingly enjoying her shock.

"You are a Slytherin, correct?" he asked, walking—no, _gliding_—into the room.  His black hair shone brightly in the dimly light room, and Ayla felt her heart skip a few beats.  Calming herself, she nodded, placing Enkidu on the chair she had previously been occupying.  

"Sixth year."  She gulped.  

He nodded.  "Name?"  His eyes narrowed.  "And don't give me a song title.  I had some girl earlier try and convince me that she was named after a Beatles hit."  He looked down at her with a sneer.  "Though I suppose you don't know what I'm talking about."

"Actually, her name really is Penny Lane," she said with a small smile.  "And you must have missed my Beatles section."

He did not appear fazed.  "So, you know who the Beatles are.  I must say, I'm rather surprised.  Most people your age are interested in—what's her name again, Madonna?"  He most certainly did not look surprised.  The sneer had not left his face.

She nodded.  "Madonna.  Good voice, pretty, but not something I'm interested in.  Give me Roger Waters any day."

The professor nodded approvingly.  "Pink Floyd as well.  Tell me, are you completely stuck in 1967?"

She raised an eyebrow.  "Not completely," she said, her voice becoming cold.  "I do like the band U2."  This Professor was presumptuous, and she didn't like that.  Also, she couldn't read him.  Most people she could read like a book.  She was distrustful of anyone who she couldn't.

He shook his head.  "Never heard of them."

"They were featured in _Witch Weekly_, even if they are a muggle band," she said with a slight chuckle.  "Though I don't suppose you read that."

"Most certainly not," he said, a small smile playing across the corners of his sneer.  He walked over to Enkidu.  "May I?"

She nodded, trying not to appear over-eager.  Not only was he handsome, he listened to her music.  Amazing!  Now, if he had been into U2, she would have collapsed into an Ayla-puddle.

He gently removed the guitar from its case and sat on the chair.  He ran his long fingers up and down the neck and raised his eyebrows when he saw the signatures.

"Are these real?" he asked, pointing.

"Yes!" she snapped, trying not to glare at him—he was, after all, to be her teacher.  "I checked them with magic."

He nodded and softly played a few chords.

"You play?" she asked with surprise as he handed it back to her.

"Not well," he admitted, standing.  "Piano is really my forte.  How much did that cost you?"  He looked it up and down.

She sighed.  "Far too much money.  I'm still paying my parents."

He smirked.  "How about a job, then?"  

She started.  "Excuse me?"

He leaned against the wall.  "I need an assistant.  I'm working on a project that requires vast amounts of time and energy.  Would you be interested in helping?"  His tone suggested that he really did not need an assistant, but was merely offering as a way for her to make money.

She frowned.  "What sort of project?  And why me?"  She was unwary of this Potions Master.  He may have been Bono's twin, but he most certainly was not the type to help third-world countries.

"A rather uninteresting project, actually."  He shrugged.  "There's been a recent bout of some sort of mutated form of influenza, and they want a cure."

Ayla's eyes widened.  "You mean the normal potions and such won't work?"

"If they did, then I wouldn't be staying up until unseen hours of the morning working on a cure then, would I?" he snapped, eyes glittering dangerously.

Ayla merely wiped a bit of spittle that had flown from his mouth off her face.  "It's like Penicillin," she mused aloud.

Snape stared at her.  "Excuse me?"

She shook her head.  "In the 1950's, some muggle scientists thought they had discovered the all-purpose antibiotic—Penicillin.  However, the use of Penicillin became so widespread that many viruses built up an immunity to it, or they mutated so that they were unaffected by it.  The all-purpose drug became useless."

It was rather helpful, at times, when your mother was a doctor and your father was a chemist.  Especially when you had to do Potions homework over the holidays.  Besides, Ayla loved Potions.  It was the only subject she actually put effort into, which gave her an above-average grade.  Her other grades were average enough, so there really was no need to be work her ass off.  She wanted to excel at Potions, so she worked hard.  She also worked hard at Transfiguration, but only because she couldn't turn a porcupine into a pincushion if you offered her U2 tickets.

Snape nodded.  "Interesting.  So what did they do about it?"

"Oh!"  She thought for a moment.  "Well, now there are many antibiotics to fight off diseases."

Snape nodded again.  "So, would you like the job?  I'd be more than willing to pay you."

She raised her eyebrows.  "How do you know I'm not hopeless at Potions?"

He turned.  "I know you aren't.  I'll expect your answer tomorrow morning, Miss Landau."  

And with that, the Potions Master was gone.

**A/N:  I'd like to thank some people: Thanks to Talia, Jason, Brian, and Matt for coming to visit me when I was sick (and thanks to Matt for the tea!); Thanks to everyone who responded last time and for your wonderful feedback; Thanks to all fellow Earth's Children lovers; Thanks to Roger Waters, Bono Vox, John Lennon, and whoever sings that wonderful _Moon Dance_ song—Van Morrison, I think.  And Alice Cooper.  Lovely inspirations.  And all the new rock artists—Incubus, Staind, Linkin Park, the list goes on…**

**Disclaimer:  ****Disclaimer: In no way, shape, or form do I wish anyone to recognize any characters found in the Harry Potter books as belonging to anyone other than J.K. Rowling, publishers such as Bloomsbury Books, Raincoast Books, Schoolastic Books, or Warner Brothers, Inc. I do not own characters found in any published works, and can claim only Ayla Landau and Penny Lane at the moment, and some others that will be introduced later.  I also do not own any songs/bands/lyrics mentioned in the story, unless specifically stated otherwise.**


	3. Mesmerizing

Ayla was not the first person to wonder if Severus Snape was a mind reader, nor would she be the last.  It was, however, extremely unnerving.  He truly was "tall, dark, and mysterious."  Pandora would have a fit.

"He belongs on some bloody detective show," she muttered angrily as she grabbed Enkidu and walked out of the door.  "Some bloody _bad_ detective show."

She didn't know why her first meeting with the man she had earlier thought of as the most handsome man in the room irked her so much.  She was used to mysterious people; she did, after all, live in Slytherin House.  Still…something about this new Potions Master made her wary, and she didn't like it.  

Especially when she couldn't get his face out of her mind.

You weren't supposed to crush on people you didn't like, she thought angrily as she turned down the passageway that would take her to the common room.  You were supposed to crush on people you liked a lot, on people that didn't send out warning signals whenever you looked at them.

Perhaps, though, she was just being far too paranoid.  After all, the man her mother was convinced was an insane madman after their good china turned out to be her uncle, who had decided to become extremely religious and changed his appearance.  Maybe Professor Snape was just a mysterious person; someone who didn't like to share their deepest desires.  She could relate to that.  

That didn't explain why she felt like he could read her mind, though.  

This was ridiculous.  No one person deserved this much contemplation, especially not some sarcastic Potions professor whom she had only met once.  It was time to think about something else.  Something like…anything but Severus Snape.

That would make a good song title, if she could only—no!  No, no, no!  She was _not_ writing songs about him!  He most certainly was not _that_ remarkable.  Besides, writing songs were not her strong point.  She'd make a fool of herself if she even attempted something mediocre.

That was, if she hadn't already.

Pandora and Alex weren't in the common room when she returned; in fact, the room was completely devoid of any sign of life other than the damned cat of Regul Hophicus.  Some first-years were known to run away in fear of the cat, Monster, who most certainly lived up to his name.

After flicking her fingers at the hissing cat, Ayla went up the stairs to the sixth-years' floor and entered the door on the right.  She was unsurprised to find that everyone in the room was asleep, and, after sliding Enkidu under her bed, she grabbed her bathroom bag and headed towards the showers.

Unlike the other girls in the year, Ayla preferred not to keep her toiletries in the bathroom.  It wasn't as if she owned vast amounts of hair gel and mousse, or enough make-up to make McGonagall look twenty, so she really didn't need to keep it all spread over the bathroom.  Besides, between the beauty products owned by Penny and Pandora, respectively, there wasn't much shelf or counter space to be found.  There was, however, an extremely varied collection of beauty products, for neither girl would be caught dead using the same mousse or hair spray.  Both had immediately thrown out their Spun-Tight Curling Potions when they both reached for the same bottle one Monday morning.  Ayla had salvaged the potion, and found that tightly spun curly hair was a good look for her, even if it did take far too much time to achieve.

She closed the door that separated the shower stalls from the toilets and turned on the hot water in the far right shower, the one with the broken lamp.  As a result of no one ever bothering to fix the lamp with a simple spell, it was thought to be dingy, unclean, and, "absolutely crawling with things that live in the dungeons at my manor."  

Of course, it was useless to point out to Penny Lane that the Slytherin dorms were located in the _dungeons_ of Hogwarts.

As no one in Slytherin wanted to get on the bad side of Penny (save Ayla), no one used that shower stall.  Ayla, however, had found that it was the largest of the stalls, and after confirming that it was quite sanitary, had set to finding an alternate source of light.  She had thought a waterproof candle would do, and it had proved to be perfectly adequate.  Ayla preferred to keep this discovery to herself, and consequently always had an open shower.

After locking the door with a flick of her wand, she set her wand on the bench out of the water's reach, stripped, and stepped into the warmth.  After washing her hair and body, she sat down so that she was leaning against the wall and closed her eyes, letting the water cascade over her.  

She liked to do her most serious thinking in the shower, especially in this dark, secluded stall, where the only light was a dim, flickering candle.  She even—odd as it seemed—spoke to the wall at times, though she never seriously expected an answer.

Sometimes, though, she had to talk, talk to anything---Ea, herself, the wall, her sock drawer—just something.  She tried to rationalize that it was because her dorm-mates were so ridiculously self-centered, and that Bill just lacked the interest, and great con artist that she was, she had everyone in the world convinced that she was perfectly sane.  And she was.  But she couldn't fool herself, try as she might.  

She was lonely.

Bill was great.  He was her absolute best friend in the world, and she would do anything for him.  Really, he was wonderful.  Great personality, if a bit quick-tempered, lovely sense of humor, and shared her interests.   Perfectly perfect.

But there were just things she couldn't talk about with Bill.  And it wasn't the girl things—no, she let loose all of her feminine moaning on his poor red head.  It was the intellectual things---books, classes, ideology, religion, muggle/magic interactions---that gave her so much trouble in finding a confidant.  

And she knew there had to be _someone_ in Slytherin House who thought the same way she did.  Someone who loved to read, who loved to spend hours on end just _thinking_—thinking about whatever took their fancy---someone who could take a seemingly normal topic—like showers---and create an encyclopedia of questions and theories.

Someone who liked to question things, someone who liked to question people.  Someone who didn't just take it for granted that when you waved your wand and said a few words, a fire arose out of thin air.  Someone who wanted to know _why_ the fire sprang up, _how_ the wand waving and words led to that effect, _what_ made it work.  Someone who loved to analyze everything, everything from grass to magic to religion and back again.

There had be one person.  Just someone.  

And she had found that person, after long searching, and many nights in the showers.

It was Ayla Landau.  Short, obstinate, cynical, lonely Ayla Landau.  

And as much as she talked to herself, she never received an answer back.

Oh, yes, there were always Ravenclaws.  Intelligent, wise, arrogant Ravenclaws.  The ones that always seemed to know more---and naturally, why wouldn't they?  They were, after all, the smart ones.  Far too smart to consort with a Slytherin, of course.

The Gryffindors?  Talk to a Slytherin?  Even one that was best friends with Bill Weasley, prefect and shoo-in for Head boy?  Of course not!  The thought was horrendous.

And the Hufflepuffs?  They didn't even require an explanation.

So Ayla, who seemed so self-confident that she needed no one, was lonely.  And there was no one to tell.

Of course, these self-pity parties only happened in the deep, dark recesses of Ayla's mind.  She was far too busy with other things to be sorry for herself.  Sometimes, though, she wished she had a friend that she could talk about religion with.  And sometimes, she wished that she could tell someone about the exciting new topic they were discussing in Arithmancy.

And, dependable and solid as it was, the wall was a horrible friend.

And, lost in her own thoughts of the moon and the stars and why they were there, her subconscious turned to Severus Snape.  Again.

And she wondered what he had been like as a sixteen-year-old boy in Slytherin House.  Did he too, long for someone to talk to?  Perhaps, though, his housemates were not as shallow?  And perhaps, though she sincerely doubted it, he had been shallow?  

Had he been lonely?  Had he been a smart, attentive student?  Had he been flocked by females and adoring friends?  What had he done before teaching?  And why did the governors disapprove of his appointment so?

And why was he taking up so much of her time?  Groaning, she pulled herself to her feet, turned off the water, and wrapped a fluffy green towel around her shivering body.  Properly toweling herself dry, she pulled on her muggle-style sleepwear, grabbed her wand, and headed out the door, throwing her used towel into the bin.

She would take up his offer on a job, she decided, if only to prove that it was one of those unavoidable childish infatuations.  And, though she wouldn't admit it to herself, she wanted to know what he was like. 

***

The next morning seemed to pass in a blur for Ayla.  She woke up, got yelled at by Penny, tuned out an earful of useless information from Pandora, got yelled at by Penny a bit more, said a tired hello to Alex, finally found enough energy to tell Penny off, and headed down to breakfast.

Most of the school was already down at breakfast, and Ayla cursed herself for staying up so late in the showers.  It was hard enough for her to function in the mornings; doubly so when she hadn't a decent night's sleep.  She was already behind schedule.

She sat down at the Slytherin table and gave herself some porridge and a piece of toast.  She took a sip of tea and stared idly ahead, tuning out everything around her.  It was far too early in the morning for her to tolerate Pandora's incessant chatter.  

The sky on the ceiling depicted a cool, stormy morning.  Ayla looked down at her timetable and noted with mild interest that she seemed to be spending a large amount of the morning outside.  Care of Magical Creatures was first, followed by Double Herbology, then Transfiguration and Potions after the break.

Potions.

Her first class with Professor Snape, whom, she noticed after a quick glance at the Head Table, was not at breakfast this morning.  That was odd.  Perhaps he preferred to dine alone?  But he had been at the feast the night before—although Dumbledore might've forced him to attend.

Her eyes turned toward the Gryffindor table, where Bill was sitting with two Gryffindors, Jasmine Ponte and Kent Hubert.  Ayla found Jasmine incredibly arrogant and Kent incredibly foolish.  The combination was unbearable.  It didn't help that the two were dating.  They were always sitting on each other's laps, displaying the sort of affection that made Ayla's stomach churn—true love didn't exist in any form, in her opinion, especially in the sickeningly sweet way that the movies showed.  Ayla was the one who didn't cry at sappy movies—she rolled her eyes and laughed.  She had always considered people who fell in love to be in the same category as idealists.

That was why her crush on Snape bothered her so much.  It wasn't the fact that he was her teacher—everyone finds themselves attracted to a teacher on some level---it was the fact that she had had one brief, ten minute conversation with him, and she was already envisioning him in his knickers.  Black, they were, and satin.  With little green stripes, maybe.  Or cauldrons.  Did they make them with cauldrons?

This had to stop.  She would never be able to keep a straight face around him if she kept thinking about what sort of underwear he wore.  But what if he wore briefs?  
  


Absolutely furious with herself for not being able to control her own thoughts, she forced herself to listen to whatever Pandora was talking about.  Something to do with Jungular again, it sounded like.

"…and he talked to me.  He actually talked to me!"  Pandora looked ecstatic.  Her fork fell to the floor as she swept her hand across the table.  "And it was like a dream come true!"

"More like a nightmare," Alex muttered under his breath.  Pandora shot him an evil look.

Ayla grinned.  "Cheers, Alex," she said, raising her goblet.  

"Stop it, Landau."  Pandora glared at the two of them.  "You don't see me making any cracks about the Potions Master."

Ayla's heart sped up a bit, but she forced herself to keep her face blank.  "Why should you?"

"Because you like him," Pandora replied, nudging her shoulder.  "Come on, you know you do."

"Some of us have more important things to think about than the opposite sex, Boxer," Ayla said coolly, bending over to pick up the fork.  "And you've dropped something."  She slid the utensil across the table.

Pandora let it skid off the edge.  "Are you telling me that you have no interest that incredibly handsome man at the staff table?"

"Other than the fact that he's to be my teacher, none at all," she lied.  She took a quick look at the Head Table.  Snape was indeed there now, seated next to Professor Trelawny.  Professor Binns sat on his left, looking as tedious as ever.  Snape appeared to be rather unhappy about the seating arrangements, and was giving Trelawny a look that would have frightened Satan himself.  Trelawny, however, didn't seem to get the hint.

Alex looked at her appraisingly.  "Really."  He handed Pandora her fork.  "Keep track of your silverware, girl.  I'm not your personal Remembrall."

"Really."  Ayla threw down her uneaten crust.  "And now, my dear friends, I am off."  She pushed back from the table.  "Thank you for that incredibly enlightening conversation; you have altered my life in ways unexplainable."  She grabbed her bag from the floor and slung it over her shoulder.

Pandora nodded.  "Any time."

Alex rolled his eyes.  "Why isn't she a Hufflepuff?" he asked quietly, so that only Ayla, who was pushing in her chair, could hear.

"Because the Hat knew she'd scare them all away," she explained.  "See, with us, we just all ignore her, and she's no worse off."  She winked at him.  "And because her parents would have murdered her, and the Hat has a conscience."

"Yeah, well, I wish his conscience had put her anywhere but here."  He looked at the female in question, completely oblivious to anything around her.  "Why me?"

"Because your parents weren't Death Eaters," she answered.  "And you're all the better for it."

She walked out of the Hall, feeling a bit odd.  Something didn't feel right about the morning.  She had a strange feeling of foreboding that frightened her.  Not that she believed in Divination—not in the way that Trelawny taught it, anyway.  She believed that all humans had a basic intuition that protected them, but a deck of cards with swords on them could not predict events in a human's life.

But something felt off balance…Pandora wasn't usually _that_ fluff-filled, and Alex wasn't usually that impatient with her.  And Oscar Jungular had not made one comment about her being a mudblood the entire morning.  Not one.  

She met Bill by the staircase.  "Morning," she said.  He was leaning against the railing, bag in hand.

"Running late, are we?" he asked, nodding at her.

"Don't even start with me, Weasley," she said, turning towards the doors that would lead them outside for Care of Magical Creatures.  "Something's off."

He rolled his eyes.  "Another one of your feelings, eh?"  Bill was a firm disbeliever when it came to Divination or anything of the sort; he only took it as a favor to Ayla.

"Listen, the last time I had one of my 'feelings'," she said scathingly, "you fell off a Hippogriff."

He blushed bright red and kept his eyes on the ground.  "Yes, well…what's wrong with the balance of the natural forces today then, hmm?"

"I'm not sure…but something doesn't feel right.  You're exactly right about the balance part, in that way, at least."  She sighed.  "But Pandora was incredibly intolerable today—"

"More so than usual?"  Bill couldn't stand any of Ayla's friends more than she could stand his.

"Oh, she's usually tolerable," she said, waving her hand.  "I just usually block her out.  But today she was acting downright idiotic—like she couldn't think properly.  Or her head was full of air."

"I still hold to the cheese puff theory," he said with a grin.  Bill had once said that Pandora's head must be full of cheese puffs, as no one with any brains would say the sort of things she said.  For all her faults, though, Pandora could be extremely clever when she chose to, and manipulation was her strong point.  She could make anything sound exciting---or horrible.

Ayla ignored him.  "And Alex, who is usually more understanding of her, was acting like he was going to throw in the lake!"  She stopped at the foot of the outside stairs.  "And Jungular has not insulted me once today!  Once!"  She bent down and picked up a book off the ground.

"That _is_ odd," Bill agreed, coming up beside her.  "What's that?"

She flipped it over.  "Dunno.  There's no name."  She looked at the title.  "_The Wisdom and Ideas of Plato_."  

"Plato?"  Bill scrunched up his nose.  "Isn't that a planet?"

Ayla scoffed.  "No, you idiot!  Plato was a Greek philosopher who lived in the fifth and sixth centuries B.C.  He is one of the greatest philosopher of all time!"  She paused.  "I don't suppose you've heard of Socrates?"

Bill shook his head.  

Ayla sighed.  This was why she needed someone other than Bill to talk to.  For she knew some of the wisdom and ideas of Plato, and had found them quite interesting.  She had tried to discuss it with her mother, who owned the books from which she had found her information, but her mother was far too busy with work to discuss Plato with a child.   And the words of Plato and Socrates were lost on her father, who was only interested in something if the Cell Theory applied to it.

They resumed the walk to Care of Magical Creatures.  "Socrates was a great Greek philosopher.  He dedicated his life to a religious mission given to him by the oracle at Delphi, but that's another story.  Anyway, Plato was one of his disciples.  Well, Socrates was executed on charges of corrupting youths, and Plato and some other disciples left Athens and traveled around the world a bit.  Plato came back and founded his famous Academy, and taught there until he died.

"Plato and Socrates are considered to be two of the wisest men to have ever lived," she explained, brandishing the book at him.  "And someone was obviously interested in what Plato had to say."

"A professor, obviously," Bill muttered.

"Is that meant to be an insult, Weasley?" she asked, glaring up at him menacingly.

He shook his head wildly.  "No!  But you're a hell of a lot smarter than most of the students, so if it isn't yours, it's probably a teacher's…"

She sighed.  "You can stop flinching, Bill.  I'm going to hurt you."

"You had that look in your eye, though," he said.  "And I was not flinching!  I was…"

"Protecting yourself from me?" she asked smartly.

"Yeah---no!"  He shook his head furiously.  "No, I was not protecting myself.  I was just making sure that you…er…weren't moody.  It is the first, after all."

She nodded, unconvinced.  "Of course."

He nodded emphatically.  "Yes."

She shook her head and smiled.  "If you say so, Weasley.  But just remember, I know things about you that I'm sure Charlie would be happy to put up all over Gryffindor Tower—"

His eyes widened.  "You wouldn't."

She snorted as they reached the benches where Care of Magical Creatures met.  "I thought you knew me better than that, Bill."  She took a seat on the bench furthest from the outdoor podium and tucked the book in her bag.  "You know I would in a heartbeat."

He laughed nervously as he slid onto the bench next to her.  "But you won't."  He froze at her expression.  "Will you?"  His voice cracked and went up an octave at the end.

"Not now," she said, laughing.  "You sound like Michael Jackson."

"Hey, lots of people like Michael Jackson," Bill said defensively.  

"It wasn't a compliment."

"Oh."

***

Ayla walked to Potions alone.  She didn't much feel like explaining to Bill why Pandora had been making snide remarks about "a certain Potions Master" all during Care of Magical Creatures.  He had been throwing her curious looks, and she had avoided him all the rest of the morning.

She made sure that she got there after someone else did, so that Pandora couldn't say something about the two of them being alone.  After seeing that Jasmine and Kent had entered the classroom, she followed, trying to calm her stomach.  She felt like she was six again, on the Screamin' Delta Demon in the theme park in muggle America.  She had thrown up three times after she had gotten off, and once more after eating a cotton candy.

The Professor was seated at his desk, and he looked up as she entered the room.  Their eyes met, and her heart did a flip.  His eyes were fathomless; dark, deep pools of ink that drew you in and spun you around until you were so dizzy you had to look away, but you couldn't.  You couldn't because they were so beautiful, and yet so dangerous at the same time.  His eyes…

She shook her head.  She could not spend all of Potions comparing his eyes to deep, dark pools of _anything_.  Angered at her own lack of self-control, she took a deep breath and tore her gaze from his.  She walked over to his desk and tried her hardest to look smart, if that was at all possible.

"Miss Landau," he said, nodding at her.  

"Professor," she said, nodding back.

They stared at each other for a moment, his eyes boring into hers.  She looked away before she started forming love poetry in her head.  

He cleared his throat.  "I expect you have an answer to my proposition."  It wasn't a question.

She nodded.  "Yes."

He stood, dropping his quill on the desk.  "Good.  I expect you here at eight-o-clock sharp tonight, then." 

She nodded and turned to find a table, only to discover that Bill had already chosen a seat right in front.  She quickly walked over to the table and slid into the seat next to him.

"What is it with you and that guy?" he asked as she rummaged in her bag for her books.  

"I'll explain later," she muttered, setting _One Thousand and One Magical Herbs and Fungi_ on the table, along with _The Art of Potions: Year Six_.  She looked through her bag again and pulled out a roll of parchment and a container of purple ink.

"Damn it," she swore, her face in her bag.  "I could've sworn I put those quills in here…"

Bill tapped her on the shoulder.  "Here.  Just keep this one."  He handed her a quill with a few feathers pulled off the end.  She raised her eyebrow inquisitively.

"Dare I ask?" she said, holding up the quill.

"I had Binns last period," he explained, taking out his own books.  "I didn't even notice I was shredding my quill until the feathers made me sneeze."

She nodded.  "Ah.  Still as tedious as ever, I presume."

"Worse," he said miserably, taking out his own quill and ink.  "I know I shouldn't say this, being a prefect and all,"—he paused—"but History of Magic is just boring.  All we do is take notes!  Most of us sleep through it."

Ayla nodded.  "Yes, I catch up on my own lack of sleep in that class."  

He shook his head.  "You really shouldn't.  He gives hard exams."

She frowned.  "That class, like all others, is a bore for me.  I write down what he writes on the board and sleep through the rest.  I do the same thing in every other class."  

"Except for Transfiguration," he smirked, nudging her shoulder.  "You can't possibly sleep in that class."

She paused.  "No, I suppose I don't…I just can't seem to make my porcupine turn into a pincushion.  Do you know how long it took me to make my match pointy?"

He laughed just as Professor Snape took his place at the front of the room, assignment book in hand.

"Hello," he began, and the class immediately fell silent.  He spoke quietly, but his tone held an edge of authority to it.  The effect was nearly overwhelming, and Ayla had to take a deep breath again.

"You have been placed under my care for the next hour," he said, eyes scanning the room, "in which I have been charged with the difficult task of teaching the magical art of Potions to a group of sixteen-year-olds whose small minds are filled to the brim with trivial rubbish.  I don't expect any of you to have to presence of mind to appreciate the beauty of simmering cauldron, or the simple delicacy of a dangerous concoction.

"I do expect, however, for you to try your best to appear to be attentive, and I wish you the best of luck if I feel that you are not.  I would suggest that you try to find some time in your inconsequential lives for this class; you will be tested frequently.  I expect you all to take notes on anything I say and write on the board, as it will most likely be helpful when you must prepare Potions.  I also expect you to do well on these tests and assignments; all the information and materials you need will be provided for you.  There is no reason for any of you to do poorly in this class.

"I will not tolerate any intentional disruptions, and necessary disciplinary measures will be taken if such instances occur.  I will not have any of you purposely ruining one of your peer's Potions, and horseplay is a very good way to lose a digit, especially around the fires."

After this speech the class all stared at him.  Every single pair of eyes were focused on him; even Penny Lane had put down her magazines long enough to consider what the teacher had to say.  Snape seemed rather pleased with himself; his sneer had turned into a smug half-smile, and he opened his book to take role.

"Boxer?"

Pandora, seated next to Alex at the table behind Bill and Ayla, eagerly responded, "Here!"

"Cannon?"

And so he continued, going through of the Slytherins.  When he reached Ayla's name, he looked up, nodded at her, and said, "Miss Landau."

She nodded back, trying to keep the grin off her face.  She had found his little speech quite interesting.  He had made a show off calling them all idiots, yet seemed to expect a great deal.  She found this hypocrisy odd but fascinating, and wondered what his motives were.  

He finished the Slytherins and turned the page, and began with the Gryffindors.

"Akten?" all the way to, "Weasley?"

"Here," Bill answered, somewhat nervously.  Snape turned his eyes on Bill, looked from Bill to Ayla and back again, decided he didn't want to know, and closed his book.

"Now.  Can any of you tell me what I would get if I added Narmer's Solution to a cauldron full of wine that had been sitting out for a month?" he demanded.

Pandora shot her hand in the air.  "Yes?"

"Wouldn't it just turn a wine-ish color?" she said, sounding pleased with herself.

Snape raised an eyebrow.  "If that were the case, Miss Boxer, do you think I would be placing so much emphasis on it?"

She looked abasahed and didn't answer.

"Now, does anyone have a more thought out response?" he asked, sounding skeptical.

Ayla's analytical mind took over.  _All right, what does Narmer's Solution consist of?  Water, Jenagal roots, baking soda, kint liver—_

_Baking soda?_

_Aged wine…isn't that the same thing as vinegar, more or less?_

Ayla thought back, as though drawing upon a memory that wasn't hers, to a small classroom full of small mounds.  They had mixed baking soda with red food coloring and added vinegar…

Model volcanoes, that was it!  She immediately raised her hand, rather proud of herself for thinking of that.

Snape nodded at her.  "Care to try, Miss Landau?"

She nodded.  "Well, first of all, that wouldn't be particularly smart of you."

He leant back against the desk, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips.  "Please, elaborate," he said, not unkindly.

Bill tugged at her sleeve nervously, but she shrugged him off.  _I know what I'm doing._

"Well," she explained, "Narmer's Solution has a high concentration of baking soda.  Mixed with that much amount of aged wine, which probably would have turned into vinegar by that point anyway, it would cause a huge explosion."

Snape stroked his chin thoughtfully, his eyes boring into hers.  He was pleased with her!  She could see it in his eyes, the way he half-smiled at her.  He was pleased with her.  She felt like hugging herself.

"Ten points to Slytherin," he said, "for the best answer to that question I've heard in a long time."  He did not look away from her, and for a moment, she swore there was a connection between them.  The next moment, however, he was pacing the room, sneer back in place.

"So.  Why aren't you all writing that down?" 

There was a sudden rummage for parchment and quills, and Snape caught Ayla's eye again.  She gave him an innocent look, and he stared back, dark eyes glittering.

Ayla found this new Potions Master to be tough, sarcastic, and a bit on the mean side.  And she felt herself falling even more under his spell, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

**/N:  I'd like to thank some people:  Thanks to Itai, for coming to visit me in the hospital; thanks to people for reading this; thanks to Jann for the birthday wishes; thanks to Riley, who's own fic, _Pawn to Queen,_ actually semi-inspired a bit of this (if only in a very indirect way); thanks to Josh, for being so incredibly supportive of my insane dreams, and thanks to Jay, who, even though he will never see this, is the best friend a girl could ask for (and a bit like Bill Weasley).**

**Disclaimer:  ****Disclaimer: In no way, shape, or form do I wish anyone to recognize any characters found in the Harry Potter books as belonging to anyone other than J.K. Rowling, publishers such as Bloomsbury Books, Raincoast Books, Schoolastic Books, or Warner Brothers, Inc. I do not own characters found in any published works, and can claim only Ayla Landau and Penny Lane at the moment, and some others that will be introduced later.  I also do not own any songs/bands/lyrics mentioned in the story, unless specifically stated otherwise.**


	4. Of Potions and Dreams

"So, what's with you and this Snape guy?

Ayla, Charlie, and Bill were sitting on the benches used for Care of Magical Creatures, a plate of chicken sandwiches in front of them.  Ayla hated to eat in the Great Hall.  Pandora's chatter, Alex's complaints, Jungular's taunting…when added to all the noise and echo of the hall, it was enough to make her head pound.  So she and Bill often took their lunch outside—sometimes by the lake, sometimes on the front steps, sometimes (when the weather was cold) to Hagrid's house (he never knew)—or to an empty classroom.  Charlie sometimes went with, as he had today.

Bill had asked the aforementioned question, no doubt referring to Pandora's snide remarks about Ayla's correct answer to Snape's question.  And about the looks she was getting from Alex during Care of Magical Creatures.

"Something that seems to exist only in the confused mind of Pandora Boxer," Ayla replied, taking a bite of her sandwich.

Charlie wrinkled up his face.  "That girl that's always around you?  The one that never seems to stop talking?"

"That's because she doesn't," she said, nodding her head.  "Pandora, kind as she is to me, is the most annoying human being this side of the English Channel."  She paused, flicking a fly off her sandwich.  "And seems to have come up with this odd idea that I have an—er—infatuation with Professor Snape."  She looked down, avoiding their eyes.

Charlie laughed.  "You?  Have a crush on that git?"  He slapped his knee.  "That's insane!  That man is crueler than mom was after Fred and George 'accidentally'"—he made quote signs with his fingers—"blew up the garden!"

Ayla frowned.  Git?  Snape wasn't a git…he just expected a lot from his students…a bit unfairly, perhaps, but nonetheless…he wasn't cruel, at least not to her.  Then again, Jungular could be nice to Penny, but Ayla would always consider him cruel.  So this man did not treat all people equal, then? Hmm…

Bill did not join in with his brother's laughter.  "You were looking at him all of Potions," he said slowly, a frown appearing on his normally smiling face.  "And you practically flew when he praised you for answering that question right…and then you defended him, after he took twenty points from Gryffindor because Jasmine and Kent were holding hands under the table.  How did he see that, anyway?" he wondered, changing subjects for a moment.

"Maybe he can see through the table," suggested Charlie, who was now holding one of the many kneazles of the forest.  "He took twenty points from me because I dropped my book."

Ayla arched an eyebrow.  "You dropped a book?"  She stretched out on a bench, putting her hands beneath her head.

Charlie squirmed in his seat.  "Into my potion…and it got all over Kaytie Lewis, and she had to go to the Hospital Wing…"

Bill snorted as Ayla shook her head.  "Then you deserved the points off, Weasley.  And don't complain.  It could be you in the Hospital Wing right now."

Charlie looked at the ground.  "Yeah, well…"

Bill looked at Ayla closely.  "You do like him!"

Ayla had to concentrate very hard to keep her voice even.  "What?"

"You were looking at him funny, and now you're defending him again!" he said, frowning again.  "And all the girls were talking about how cute he was…"

Charlie blanched as Ayla tried not to redden as she thought of his deep eyes, his dark hair, his closely shaven face…

And suddenly found herself looking up at a very angry Bill.  "How can you like that idiot!" he nearly yelled, his face flushed.  "He's mean, and he's _old_!  And he's just…Snape!"

Ayla sat up, looking him in the eye.  "You've only had him once, Bill."  _Not enough time at all…_

"One lesson was enough to prove that he's a slimy git!" he ranted back, putting his face very close to hers.  "And I don't want you liking him!"  
  


Ayla stepped backwards over the bench, putting a bar of separation between them.  "What are you going on about?" she fumed, giving him her iciest glare.  "Who I like is none of your business, much less in your control."

Charlie looked from Bill to Ayla and back again.  "Umm…guys?" he said hesitantly, putting a hand on his brother's arm.  "Bill, she does have a point—" 

"You're only saying that because you like her!" Bill snarled, shoving Charlie away.  The kneazle flew out of his arms as he landed on the ground with a soft _thud_.

Charlie leapt on his older brother, knocking him to the ground.  They rolled around on the ground, throwing punches at each other's faces.

Now, Bill was taller and heavier, but Charlie was more muscular, so neither boy seemed to have the advantage.  However, they were getting a bit out of hand, and Ayla saw that they were going to roll right into the lake if they didn't stop.  Not being one to waste time, she whipped out her wand and froze them with a quick, "Impedimentia!"

The boys suddenly stopped moving, Charlie on top of Bill, his fist inches above Bill's nose.  After moving Charlie off of Bill, Ayla undid the spell, looking at the two of them disapprovingly.  

"Honestly, you two," she began, shaking her head.  "I almost wish I was a prefect so I could take points off."

"Shit!"

Severus Snape, who had been squatting, had just hit his head on one of his many bookshelves.  He was looking for a book of his that he had been reading earlier in the week, but never had time to finish.  Or re-finish, he should say.  He had read the book at least ten times.

It was strange that he couldn't find the book, though.  He didn't just misplace things—he was a very organized man.  Unfortunately for him, he had taken the book all over the castle, so retracing his steps didn't seem like an option.  

And now, on top of not having his favorite book, he had a splitting headache.  Wonderful.  

He walked over to his desk, sat in his chair, and looked over each of his class books.  Every first-year class he had was the same—all scared out of their wits of the school, and his sarcasm hadn't helped to assuage their fears.  It seemed, from what Minerva McGonagall had told him at dinner, (with a very disapproving look on her face) that half of the school was terrified of him.

Which was exactly what he wanted, more or less.

Teaching was not something he really wanted to do.  Ever.  But Albus Dumbledore had a way of making you agree to something even if you absolutely loathed it.  Like teaching.  And he owed Albus a favor.

A lifetime of favors.

All of his lives worth of favors.

Albus Dumbledore was the very reason Severus was sitting in his desk chair at that moment, with a splitting headache, reading his assignment books.  Albus had saved Severus' life in more ways than Severus wanted to count.

Severus didn't like to have people be close to him—it only caused pain in the end.  Albus was the only person that knew Severus' secrets, and that Severus considered something remotely similar to a friend.  The only person still living, anyway.

At least if the students thought he was evil, they would stay away from him.  He could lock himself in his rooms, read and work on his Potions all evening…

But he truly was evil.  He had shared his soul with Lucifer—and enjoyed it.  He had enjoyed hearing people scream as he ruthlessly murdered them, enjoyed watching them do things that they would never have done unless under magical influence, enjoyed the parties afterwards, where the air was thick with alcohol and blood, set against the backdrop of the screams of their rape victims.

And then it changed. 

Then he had to force himself to kill his victims, had to take Potions so he wasn't violently sick while his comrades satisfied their twisted desires, had to suffer through blinding headaches at the galas, had to try to block out the horrified screams.

Sometimes he wished he were at the other end of the wand.

But those days were over.  Now he was a Potions teacher, spending his days in a dungeon classroom, faced with the impossible task of teaching a bunch of young idiots.

And they were _all_ idiots.

Well, Severus thought, massaging his temples, perhaps all of them were not idiots.  There did appear to be one or two fine minds scattered throughout the school, but even those people lacked the drive needed to achieve their best.  He had only been there one day, yes; but unless the third-year Hufflepuffs and second-year Gryffindors were all geniuses (which he highly doubted), the vast majority of the students hadn't gained any intellect since he'd last been there eight years ago.

And then there was the Landau girl, who was again different.  He had noticed her immediately at the feast the night before—she must have looked up at him every other minute.  He had assessed her at that moment as someone who was as ridiculously vain as every other soul in Slytherin House; someone who must be popular and ditzy, judging by the way the girl next to her was looking at her with something akin to adoration.

But he had been completely off mark.  He had leaned over and asked Professor Peary, who was on his immediate left, who the girl that kept looking up at the Head Table was.  Juliet immediately turned on her charms and began giggling and flirting in a way that made Severus' stomach churn even now as he thought about it.  

Ignoring her blunt advances, he discovered that Ayla Landau was muggle-born, and therefore had virtually no social life within Slytherin, and throughout the school.  The lack of friends obviously gave her more time to study, for she had ridiculously high marks in every class, especially Potions.

Hearing this, Severus' mind began whirling.  Not only had he been completely wrong about her, she was good at Potions!  And he did need an assistant to help him try and find a cure for the bout of influenza going around the village…

So after dinner, he questioned Albus about her.  Albus seemed to think that she would make a fabulous assistant, but he warned Severus that she was a bit on the unconventional side, especially for a Slytherin.

"She's one of the more brilliant students in the school," he had said, "but also one of the strangest."

She was indeed unconventional, as he had discovered last night when he had found her playing her guitar and singing songs that _he_ had grown up with.  He recalled listening to Pink Floyd when he was around fifteen or sixteen.  He had received _Dark Side of the Moon_ for Christmas one year.  Of course, it was a magically altered version—not many muggle albums were formatted for mages, but when a band got as large and popular as Pink Floyd, there was enough demand for a business to boom.  At first the companies had charged outrages sums of money for their "Magic Records", but as demand grew and more and more places began selling these albums, the prices dropped to more competitive rates.

Pink Floyd and the Beatles.  Well, she had good taste in music.  

And she had really surprised him with her knowledge in muggle Potions—what had she called it, Chemistry?  Muggle sciences did interest him, although he had never learned their proper names.  Some of their mathematical theories were quite advanced, and the science of objects in motion—he couldn't remember the name—was fascinating.  

He shook his head.  What was he doing, spending so much time thinking about a student for so long?  He couldn't remember the last time he had thought about _anyone_ for that amount of time.  Other than himself, obviously.

A knock at his door signaled the arrival of his object of thought.  He threw the assignment books into a drawer, stood and pushed in his desk chair, and opened the door.  She seemed slightly surprised to see him standing there in front of her.

"Good evening, Miss Landau," he said smoothly, stepping back to allow her to enter the room.

She nodded.  "Same to you, Sir."  She looked around the room.  "Er…don't we need a…erm…cauldron?" she asked timidly.

"Obviously," he sneered down at her, suddenly struck by how very short she was.  She appeared a bit abashed, but nodded and looked at the floor, trying to appear interested in the stone.

"We aren't working on it in here," he explained, answering her unasked question.  "We will be working in my private laboratory."

She nodded, eyes still trained on the ground.  She seemed to be wondering what to do, and was acting rather shyly, almost as if she was afraid of him.  What a stark contrast this was to the girl he had met the night before!

"You don't have to be afraid of me, girl!" he snapped, and she jerked her head up to look at him.  "I'm not going to poison you."

"I never thought you were," she replied coolly, staring him defiantly in the eye.  He laughed to himself.  

He nodded.  "Good.  Follow me."  He led the way through a door at the back of the classroom into his office.  She followed closely behind, her eyes gazing over the many things in jars along the walls.

She paused at one particular jar for a moment.  "Amazing," she muttered, squinting at the object floating in the jar.  "Is this an Erumpent horn?"

 "Indeed it is, Miss Landau."

She turned around, eyebrows furrowed.  "Aren't these really hard to obtain?" she asked, frowning.

He nodded.  "They are.  Being a professor at Hogwarts, however, gives me access to things otherwise unattainable…"  He cleared his throat.  "Now, before we begin, there are a few things I must make clear."

She looked at him, face rapt with attention.

"I am in charge here.  I will not stand to have my authority undermined, is that clear?"

She nodded.

"Good.  Do not touch anything without my permission.  Do not add anything to a cauldron unless I have instructed you to or approved it."

Another nod.  A small smile was playing at the corner of her lips, and Severus took offense to this just as another teacher might have taken to eye rolling.

"Miss Landau, tell me, _what_ do you find so funny?"

"Nothing, Sir," she replied, smile disappearing, "except that you seem to think I wouldn't have the common sense to know all of the rules you're imposing."  The girl's eyes widened and she put a hand to her mouth.  Her nails were bitten, short stubs painted black.  Her hands were quite small; Severus was sure he could have folded his over hers with ease.

To the girl's imminent relief, Severus laughed at her boldness.  What a strange girl!  

"I appear to have underestimated you, my dear," he chuckled lightly.  "Well then!  Shall we get started?"

***        

Half an hour later, Snape had finished explaining the dilemma in detail, and they were hard at work trying to find a cure for the strange bout of influenza circulating around Hogsmeade.

Ayla hadn't known what to do at first—some of the equipment was more advanced than anything she had used before—but Snape had patiently explained how to use them, and she felt fairly confident about her performance.

Because she _had_ to impress him.  She just had to.  Nothing seemed to have ever mattered so much before--especially when he was right behind her, his breath beating down the back of her throat, his hand over hers as he demonstrated how to use the Element Separator.  No, impressing him seemed to be the priority at the moment.

He wasn't much of a talker, this Professor.  They worked in silence, save the cackling of hissing cauldrons and the bubbling of magical solutions.  It was a good thing the Potions Master was not one for idle chitchat, because Ayla didn't think she could say anything without her face going a deep, rich shade of red, or her voice shaking.

So on they worked, looking at the different ingredients that made up the common Flu-Fighter Draught.  The owner of the Apothecary in Hogsmeade made questionable Potions, Snape had remarked idly.  The first step, he had instructed, was to make certain that there was nothing faulty in the Flu-Fighter Draught being sold in Hogsmeade.

Unfortunately, the breaking down of Potions was a long and careful process, even using the Element Separator.  Snape had been working on it for a week now, and all he had been able to come up with was that there was an unusual consistency to the Potion.  And that he had been able to tell just by looking at it.

Three weeks after Ayla had begun working with Snape, the man suddenly snorted; startling her so much she nearly dropped the beaker of Element Separator she had been holding.  Recovering her balance, she turned to look at Snape quizzically.

He passed her a beaker full of a thick, dull green solution.  "What do you think this is?"

Setting down the beaker she was holding, she went over to the proffered beaker.  She bent down and cautiously sniffed the mixture, frowning slightly as she did so.  She picked up a spoon that was lying on the worktable and gently stirred the contents.  She let go of the spoon.  It stood straight up in the middle of the beaker.

She arched an eyebrow.  "Judging by the citrus smell, I'd say it's a Pepper-Up Potion.  A very hastily prepared Pepper-Up Potion, but one nonetheless."

"Absolutely correct, Miss Landau," he said, giving her a small smile of approval that set her heart into an irregular beating pattern.  "It is, indeed, a Pepper-Up Potion.  Now, can you tell me what is in a Pepper-Up Potion?"

"Water, the heart of a Boomslang plant, citrus juice—"

He cut her off with an impatient hand.  "Yes, and do you know what other Potion those key ingredients are used in?"

Comprehension dawned on her.  "The Flu-Fighter Draught."

"Yes," Snape said, nearly laughing.  "And it seems that the maker of this specific Flu-Fighter Draught decided it would be simpler to add a Pepper-Up Potion to the other elements in the Flu-Fighter, forgetting one important fact."  

"What's that?" Ayla asked, not knowing how to make a Flu-Fighter Draught.

"Flu-Fighter only uses _half_ of the heart of a Boomslang!"  Snape chuckled.  "It would seem, Miss Landau, that the Potions the village of Hogsmeade is supplied with are faulty."

"So, are we finished?" asked Ayla, hoping that he would need her help in doing something else.  Anything to see him after hours on a regular basis.  Anything.

"Certainly not!"  Snape's customary sneer returned.  "Do you realize that this only furthers our work?  Do you realize that we have to make hundreds of doses of proper Flu-Fighter Draught?"

Ayla groaned.  "But Sir, I don't know—"

Again, he cut her off.  "I will tell you how, and you will help me make all the doses needed.  Do you understand?"

She nodded.  Well, she thought, at least she got to spend more time around him…

"Good."  His voice softened.  "I've no doubt you will be able to make this with ease.  You're the most promising Potions student I've seen in a long time."

Turning from him so he wouldn't see her blush, she lit a fire under her cauldron.  He thought she was a good Potions student!

So they began to work.  And they made Flu-Fighter Draught after Flu-Fighter Draught.  The ingredients began to blend together as Ayla's mind went into autopilot: cut the Boomslang heart in half, squeeze an orange, squeeze a lemon, measure out one liter each of the orange and lemon juice…

Finally, after what seemed like days of work but was only hours, the clock struck four, and Snape pronounced them finished.  She sank into one of the stiff, hard-backed chairs in the room, strangely feeling more comfortable than she ever had when sitting on her bed.

"Get up, girl!" Snape snapped, and she sprang to her feet.  "Don't you think I want nothing more than to sleep for all eternity as well?  We aren't done.  If you weren't falling asleep on your feet, would you leave a laboratory looking like this?"  He swept his arm through the air, indicating the table in front of him.

She blinked and took in the worktable.  He was right; it was in disarray. Yawning, she shuffled over and began to dispose of the fruit peels, put the Boomslang skin and leftover heart–halves into a jar, and re-jarred the leftover ingredients.

He joined her in the cleaning process, and within ten minutes the lab was as spotless as it had been before either of them had begun working, save one cauldron that was working on something that Snape needed; Ayla didn't ask.  This done, Ayla sat once again in a chair, closing her eyes as she slumped slightly.

Snape chuckled.  "I think," he said, sliding gracefully into the chair next to hers, "that we might be able to arrange a cancellation of your classes tomorrow, hmm?"

She opened her eyes and nodded gratefully.  "If you could."

They sat in silence for a while, and Ayla felt herself slowly drifting off to sleep.  Her joints ached, her muscles were screaming at her, and she felt like she had taken multiple doses of Nyquil.   The chair was the most comfortable thing she had ever sat on, and the soft bubbling of the lone, lit cauldron gently lulled her into a deep, peaceful sleep.

***

Severus watched the Landau girl sleep, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.  He envied her; he was as exhausted as she was, if not more, and yet he couldn't sleep.  Not in the chair, not in his bed, not anywhere.

Still, the girl did look comfortable.

Three weeks.  Three weeks the two of them had been working, only to find that all they had to do was make proper Flu-Fighter Draughts.  The next time he went into Hogsmeade, he was going to have a _very_ interesting chat with Marius Sulla, the Apothecary owner and supplier.

She was a good Potions brewer, the Landau girl.  Very good.  He had noticed that when she was concentrating very hard on something, her eyebrows furrowed and she bit her lip; she had done the same thing when playing her guitar.

And so attentive!  He'd never seen a student that paid that much attention to him—she hung on his every  word!  Always compliant, never disagreeing with him, or complaining about the amount of effort the work required… 

The clock suddenly struck five, and Severus sprang up from his chair.  He went over and stirred the lit cauldron, feeling a smooth, fluidic consistency.  Sighing with relief, he grabbed two empty bottles and filled each of them to the brim; then, setting one down on the counter, he poured half the contents of the other down his throat.

He sat down in the chair again, closing his eyes.  The Sleeping Draught would kick in soon, especially with the extra half-dose he had taken.  It was addictive, this potion, but he was willing to take that chance, especially on a night like tonight, when he felt as if he had been to hell and back.

Oh yes, that was right.

He had been to Hell and back.  

It wasn't as though he enjoyed dwelling on his days as a Death Eater; the memories seemed to creep up uninvited and unwelcome, and they did not fade unless he drifted off to sleep, and sometimes the memories faded into vivid nightmares—the kind that made him awaken surrounded in a pool of sweat, his heart pounding uncomfortably in his chest.  

So he took the Sleeping Draught, laced with an anti-nightmare concoction of his own invention.  It helped him sleep _and_ kept the nightmares away—most nights.

He looked at the sleeping girl and briefly wondered what she dreamed about.  Certainly not about ruthlessly killing people, again, and again, and again.  Although, given her social status at the school, she may have dreamt about the deaths of certain people—though not death by Death Eater standards.

He'd seen how most of Slytherin House treated her—a muggle-born, with odd taste and an obvious lack of desire to have friends within her dorm—and it vaguely reminded him of his own school days.   Of course, he'd had it a fair bit easier, being pureblooded and under Lucius Malfoy's wing, but it hadn't been easy being so…different.  His complexion and natural aptitude for Potions made him subject to many taunts from his housemates, and his somewhat exaggerated reputation for knowing and practicing the Dark Arts made him rather unpopular with the other houses.  

In truth, his knowledge of the Dark Arts had been small and merely studious.  He'd seen the books in his father's study; being the curious and well-read child he had been, he was unable to resist.  By the time he was fourteen, however, Malfoy (by then his protector), three years older, had urged him to read and learn more.  By the time he graduated, Severus wagered he knew more Dark curses than even the Defense teacher had known.

So when he was approached by the Death Eaters via Malfoy, he accepted their offer—it seemed innocuous enough.  He was to be brewing Potions for the Dark Lord; didn't have to kill anyone, didn't have to receive the distinguishing mark on his forearm—he wasn't a Death Eater per say, just an accomplice of the accomplices.  

By the time he was presented to the Dark Lord, he was in too deep to do anything to escape joining the ranks.  And after pledging his loyalty to Voldemort, he realized that he might enjoy it all.  The killing, the raping—the rush of power he felt as he screamed the deadly words:  '_Avada Kedavra_'.

Then, one night, after a particularly raucous party, Malfoy and Kyenth Avery found a young teenage boy—muggle—camping in the forest near the pub.  They decided to have a bit of "fun" with the boy.

Severus, in all his life, would never forget the look on the boys face as he was forced into the dirt, as Malfoy pulled up his robes and forced the boy to—even now, it made him shudder.  

That night had hit a little too close to home.  Suddenly comparing Malfoy to his father, Severus ran from the party.  And he ran and ran, not knowing where he was going.  And when he looked up, he was at Hogwarts.

So at four-o-clock in the morning, still in a drunken stupor, he banged on the Headmaster's door—or, rather, he kicked the wall repeatedly—until Dumbledore heard the noise and came down to find a man he hadn't seen in nearly two years, looking as though he had been torn apart and hastily put back together.

Dumbledore drew the young man into his office and made him a cup of tea laced with a hangover Potion.  And little by little drew the story out of Severus.  Severus found himself confessing everything—about his father, about the Death Eaters, about the boy in the forest—and by the end of it, he was sobbing.  

The old man had looked at him somberly with those great, ancient blue eyes.  "Severus," he had said, "you've got yourself into a situation, haven't you?"

Dumbledore had given him an ultimatum: Turn spy and become an operative in the war against Voldemort, or go to Azkaban.  It wasn't a hard decision.

And here he was, seven years later, a Professor at Hogwarts.  

And forever in Dumbledore's debt.

With all these thoughts to confuse him, and the Potion seeping through his veins, Severus soon joined Ayla in the land of slumber.

*******

**Disclaimer:  ****Disclaimer: In no way, shape, or form do I wish anyone to recognize any characters found in the Harry Potter books as belonging to anyone other than J.K. Rowling, publishers such as Bloomsbury Books, Raincoast Books, Scholastic Books, or Warner Brothers, Inc. I do not own characters found in any published works, and can claim only Ayla Landau and Penny Lane at the moment, and some others that will be introduced later.**

**Thanks for all the Reviews:  Rosmerta _(just out of curiosity, are you *the* Rosmerta?  The one with that fabulous fic with the name that escapes me?  With Harry as a girl?)_, Daized and Conphused, Fae, XevenOf9, Xara, Starlight _(I love your story, the one with the Megan girl, it's really very good)_, ferguspork**


	5. Teacher and Student

**Chapter Five**

Two weeks later Professor Snape held Ayla back after class.  After bidding a rather confused Bill farewell, she walked up to his desk expectantly.  "You wanted to see me, Professor?"

"We were wrong, Miss Landau," he said, rising from his chair.  "We were totally and completely off the mark."

She stared at him.  "Sir?"

He sighed.  "However faulty the Flu-Fighter Draughts were," he said, "that wasn't the problem."  He walked out from behind the desk and picked up a dish that was lying on it.  "I have here a sample of the virus, taken from the throat of a five-year-old male."

She took the dish from him.  Lovely.  Absolutely lovely.  It looked like any other virus she'd ever seen in a petri dish—and she'd seen quite a few, her father being a Biologist/surgeon.

"We have to figure out another solution to the problem," he went on, grabbing the dish out of her hands.  "I will see you here at eight, then?"

She nodded, willing away the blush that was threatening to creep up.  She quickly took her leave, trying to not to smile.  When she was safely out of the classroom and in the hallway, however, she couldn't stop a large grin from appearing on her face.  A whole evening with Snape!  Maybe a whole _month_ of evenings!

Bill was waiting for her at the end of the corridor.  He had an annoyed look on his face.  She quickly quelled her grin.  

"What was that all about?" he said, frowning.

"Hmm?"  They started walking towards the Great Hall for lunch.  "He said I have to come back tonight."

"Again?"  She noticed that he was clenching his fists in anger.  She smirked to herself.  Well, wasn't she just a Weasley-magnet, hmm?  

"Why?  Haven't you done enough for him already?"

She shook her head.  "No, he wants me to finish helping him.  Apparently we didn't do it properly last time."

"Do what?" asked Bill suspiciously.

"Stop the virus, you fool!" she said, laughing.  "What did you think I was doing down there, polishing his broomstick?"

Bill blushed and looked down.  Apparently he _had_ been thinking that she was doing sexual things.  Interesting.

"Bill, you know me better than that!  You know that I haven't even kissed a boy!  Why would you think that I—"

"Because all the girls think he's the greatest thing to walk the face of the earth!" Bill interrupted, looking murderous.  "And you seem to think the same!"

"Bill, just because I think someone is handsome doesn't mean I'm going to fall on my knees and screw them!"  

He shrugged.  "Well, you spend all your evenings down in the dungeons with the new, young, attractive teacher!  What am I supposed to think?"

"That I'm helping him with a project!" she yelled.  "Which I am!"

"Oh."

She shook her head.  "Honestly, Bill.  If I didn't know you better, I'd say you were jealous."

He blushed again.

***

After three weeks of finding out nothing, Ayla was ready to throw in the towel.  

"There isn't a cure!" she yelled in frustration as the virus, once again, resisted all effects of the Potion that Ayla and Snape had administered.  They had been altering the Flu-Fighter Draught slightly every time, and nothing seemed to stop the virus. 

Snape regarded her with amusement.  "Giving up, Miss Landau?"

 "Why shouldn't we?" she said, lighting a fire under a new cauldron.  "It would be better than having to spend endless hours down here trying to do something that can't be done!"

Something in his eyes flickered.  "Would you rather not spend your evenings down here?"

She shook her head.  "No!  I mean, I don't mind the work, really, and the money's nice."  He was paying her sixteen sickles an hour, which added up to a lot after a while.  She was going to be able to buy everyone really nice Christmas presents, especially since she didn't have very many people to shop for.  Sometimes having no friends came in handy.

"I understand that this can be time-consuming," he said, "and if you wanted to stop, I would fully understand."

Her heart stopped.  "Trying to get rid of me?" she said in what she thought was an offhand, sarcastic voice.  In truth, she felt like she was going to cry.  Did he really want her to stop working with him?

"Not at all," he said, looking at her quit seriously.  "Quite the contrary.  You are not only wonderful at Potion-making, your company is actually somewhat preferable to working in solitude."

She raised an eyebrow, her chest doing flip-flops.  "So you don't have an underdressed woman stop by here every evening, then?" she said, smiling slightly.  She'd learned by then that when he was in a good mood, you could joke with him a bit, as long as you didn't go overboard with it.

"Is that what everyone thinks, then?" he asked, measuring out some liquid into a vial.  "That I have a prostitute come by thrice a week to fulfill my desires?"

She grinned at him.  "So you don't?"  She picked up a spoon and gently stirred the contents of her cauldron.  "Well, that completely disproves _that_ theory."

Snape, who had been about to pour the contents of the vial into the cauldron, stopped suddenly.  "_What_ theory?"

"That you have a whore swing by here every night," she replied.

"And what, pray tell, does this theory apply to?"

"The male population of the school came up with that idea," she explained, waving her wand and turning down the flame underneath her cauldron.  "They all think you're insane for ignoring the incredibly blatant advances of Professor Peary."

Snape chuckled.  "Really?"

She nodded.  "Personally, I think you're rather smart to ignore her," she said, grabbing a boomslang and beginning to skin it.  "She is the most annoying woman---" she stopped, looking at the Potions Master, fearing he was going to be angry with her for badmouthing a teacher.

Too her relief, he gave her a half sneer, half smile, and nodded.  "I quite I agree, Miss Landau."  He had a look of disgust on his face.  "The way that woman _throws_ herself at me—"

"And the way Bill goes on, and on, and on about her," Ayla broke in, scowling.

"Jealous?" he asked, clearly amused.

She stirred her cauldron again.  "Not in the slightest."  She snorted.  "That's Bill's job.  He's the jealous one.  Which is strange, because we aren't involved or anything."

He beckoned to her.  "Sit, the potion has to sit for an hour, since we added the shrivel fig."  She nodded and sat in her usual chair.  He sat in the chair opposite her. 

"If you aren't seeing each other," Snape said, as though there hadn't been a break in their conversation,  "then what is he jealous of?"

Severus wasn't sure why he had asked that last question—for his own curiosity's sake, he supposed, though why the trials and tribulations of a bunch of sixteen-year-olds interested him was beyond him.

Too his surprise, she blushed.  "Well, Sir…he's jealous…er…see, he thinks that when I'm down here, I'm…not exactly helping you with Potions."  She looked down, obviously embarrassed.

He chuckled, even more surprised.  "He thinks we're sleeping together?" 

It was her turn to be surprised.  "Yes, something like that."

Severus shook his head.  "And he's jealous of this?"

"I think so," she said, frowning.  "I mean, he certainly acted like he was.  I wouldn't really know, though—I mean, I don't usually get attention from boys."  She looked down again.

Silence passed for a few minutes before Severus said, "Studying the floor patterns, are you?"

She looked up and grinned.  "Oh yes.  It's fascinating the way the marble comes together in swirls, don't you think?"

"Incredibly."  She was incredibly sarcastic, as well.  Witty sarcastic, though.  Not sarcastic like he was—in a hurtful, cruel sort of way.  

"If you don't mind me asking, Miss Landau," he said, wanting to say something that had been on his mind since the first class he'd had with her, "why is it that you are friends with Mr. Weasley?"

She frowned.  "Me and Bill?"  Her face scrunched up, as it always did when she was deep in thought.  

_Wait.  Have I actually noticed that about her?_

_I notice strange things about people all the time, _he told himself.  _Don't make something of nothing, Snape._

"Well, I guess it started my first week here," she said, snapping him out of his thoughts.  "Being muggle-born and all, none of the Slytherins wanted anything to do with me…and I was walking around the castle, cursing everything from Penny Lane to my right foot, when I ran into Bill.  Literally."  She smiled, almost wistfully.  "I yelled at him, he yelled back, and before either of us knew what we were doing, sparks were shooting out of our wands.

"Well, McGonagall found us, and, as you can imagine, she was a bit"---she coughed—"angry with us---" 

"I remember getting caught fighting by her," Severus said, thinking back to all the points and detentions she'd caused him.  "Not pleasant."

"Well, as punishment, she decided to make us have detention together with Hagrid."  She shuddered.  "I still refuse to go near that dog of his."

Severus laughed.  He was not a fan of Fang, either.

"But it was something that Bill and I agreed on, and we ended up having a conversation about how much we loathed that animal.  And before we knew it, we were friends."

Severus nodded.  "You two don't seem to have much else in common, though."

Landau nodded.  "You're right, we don't.  But he pretends to listen to my spiels, and I get him U2 tickets."  She laughed.  "No, it's actually a fair bit deeper than that.  I've just always been friends with him.  Can't explain it."

"Your spiels?"  He raised an eyebrow.

She nodded.  "See, I'm one of those strange people that actually enjoys learning; I bore him to death talking about the side-effects of Potions and explaining who Plato was."  She smiled a bit sheepishly.  "I'm nuts, I know."

"Not at all," he replied, allowing a small smile to appear on his face.  "I'm one of those people myself."

"You'll understand, then," she said, looking at him strangely, "if I use this time to catch up on a bit of reading?"

"Of course."  He felt strangely disappointed.  _What, because she'd rather read than talk to you?  Can you blame her?_

She nodded and reached into her bag.  She pulled out a book—his book!  The one he'd been looking for since August!  She opened the book to a marked page and began to read.

"Miss Landau," he said coolly, making her look up from her reading, "are you aware that you are reading _my_ book?"

Her eyes widened.  "Oh!"  She closed it and held it out to him.  "I found it outside the castle the second day of school.  I started reading it, and I never got around to finishing it."

He took it from her, making sure he looked suspicious of her story.  He believed her, of course, but it couldn't hurt to have her be frightened of him.

"If you don't mind, Sir," she said, looking nervous (good, she was properly scared), "can I ask you a question about—about one of the ideas?"

He was surprised.  So, she'd actually read it?  Interesting.  Of course, she _was_ muggle-born; it would make sense that she knew who Plato was.  Still, not many sixteen-year-olds were interested in philosophy.

"You may," he replied, wondering what her question could possibly be.

"Well, Sir, when he talks about the differences between teaching and educating—"

They talked for nearly three hours, stopping only when the potions needed to be attended to.  They riffled through the book, her asking questions, him explaining things to her.  She would question every little thing, he noticed, almost as if she was challenging _him_, not Plato.  

Not that it bothered him.  He was always up for a good challenge.  And so he responded right back, challenging her and forcing her to think on her own.  And she rose to the occasion admirably, he was surprised to see.  Not many would willingly get into a debate with him.  She lost, of course, but that wasn't the point.

The point was that he found it so remarkably _easy_ to speak with her; easier than he found it to speak with many of his colleagues.  She understood his reasoning and logic but would always respond with her own, and Severus had to admit that some of her ideas were actually worth hearing.

She was a marvel, the Landau girl.  Not so strange as she thought herself, though.  The girl took pride in being different from the rest of the world, just as he did.  However, it was amazing how similar she was to _him_.

Not in everything; she was much more music-obsessed, and far less depressing—but the resemblance was uncanny.  As a student, he'd had few friends (if any) and spent much his time reading, or in a classroom making illegitimate Potions.

Or putting hexes on Sirius Black.

They were both fairly enjoyable.

He found himself spending more and more time around the girl; not only trying to find a cure for the illness, but just _talking_—talking of thinks he hadn't had anyone to discuss them with in years.  Plato, Machiavelli, Bronte, D.H. Lawrence—she'd read them all.  He most enjoyed her opinion of James Joyce—she was Irish, so she actually understood where he was coming from.  Being Welsh, Severus did not know of the trouble in Ireland firsthand, so it was a bit foreign to him.

She'd actually had quite a bit to say on the troubles in Northern Ireland.   She hailed from Dublin, south of the British rule, but she apparently had cousins in Belfast, and she rarely—if ever—got to see them.

And, on top of all of that, she was Jewish!  Now _that_ was an interesting tidbit.  He wasn't aware that there were any Jews left in Ireland; he'd thought they'd left a long time ago.

"All except us," she'd said when he'd mentioned this.  "My father wasn't interested.  Said he was Irish and wasn't going to budge an inch.  'Course, my mum's Scottish, so she wanted to go live near her family in Glasgow or Edinburgh."  She'd smiled wistfully.  "Personally, I like my family in Glasgow better.  'Course, the two sides hate each other, but they all seem to like my mum.  But I find the Glaswegians much easier to talk to; the ones from Edinburgh are far too spoiled.  They're the rich ones of the family."

She was having trouble carrying out all of the Jewish holidays here, she'd said, which annoyed her parents to no end.  But she apparently was something more of a pagan anyway.  Said she'd found out that most witches and wizards were still polytheistic, and that she'd always been drawn to it anyway.

"It isn't something huge," he'd told her.  "We aren't really very ritualistic.  The old religion just never died out; you'll find that most wizards do _something_ on the equinoxes and solstices.  We celebrate Christmas because it helps us blend in with the muggles."

"And you like the presents," she'd said, grinning.

"That too."

His mother's parents had been Jewish.  Hungarian wizards, they'd used their magic to get out of Europe when Hitler came to power.  They'd gone to Palestine, then moved to England when his mother was eight, fearing that the newly established Israel would be just as dangerous as Europe under Nazi control.

His father's family, however, had been in Wales for more generations than Severus cared to count.  And pureblooded to the last drop.  Even his mother, though foreign, had been pureblooded.  

"I don't understand," Landau remarked one day.  "I mean, why does it matter so much?"

"Being pureblooded?" She nodded.  "Why do people discriminate against Jews, Ayla?"  He'd taken to calling her by her first name; "Miss Landau" seemed a bit formal, especially since they spend so much time around each other.  

"Because it gives them someone to blame things on," she replied bitterly, shaking a bit of dried snakeskin into her cauldron.  "Jews are fabulous scapegoats."

"True as that is," Severus said, smiling slightly, "we both know that fundamentalists do not bomb synagogues because they blame the local rabbi for their tax problems."

She chuckled.  She absently stirred her mixture as she said, "Well, people have preconceived ideas about Jews, and they get more ridiculous every generation.  Parents tell their children, who tell _their_ children…it's a never-ending cycle of misinformation."  She paused.  "Oh. I understand."

"You do.  It all started out harmlessly enough; wizards _had_ to fear muggles in the middle ages; there were far too many witch huntings and killings for them not to."

"But I thought that when witches were caught," she said, brow furrowed, "they just froze the flames.  Real witches, I mean," she added hastily.

He bit his lip.  "Did Binns tell you this?"  She nodded.  He sighed.  That man had been feeding misinformation to children since his own days as a student.  "In truth, before Hogwarts and other magical schools were established, children were taught magic by their parents.  Therefore, muggle-born witches and wizards were often burned at the stake because they could not control their powers."

Her eyes widened.  "Oh!"

"And, on top of that, muggles did persecute many pure-blooded witches who lacked the proper training.  That's why Hogwarts was created in the first place, to provide a safe place where magical children could learn how to protect themselves if any muggle mobs came after them."  Severus frowned.  "However, Salazar Slytherin took his hatred off all things muggle a bit too far—legend has it that he built a secret chamber, in which a horrible monster lives—"

"—Waiting to devour all the muggle-born students," Ayla finished wryly, smirking.  "Don't look so surprised.  I was told that the Heir of Slytherin was going to come and rid the school of Mudbloods because I had the nerve to disgrace Slytherin house.  Or something like that."  She cocked an eyebrow.  "Actually, come to think of it, Oscar Jungular told me that the other day."

"Silly children," Severus muttered, shaking his head, "they shouldn't talk about what they don't understand."

"Hmm?"

"Never mind," he said quickly.  "It's just foolish."  He wiped off his hands with a towel.  "Let's call it a day, shall we?  After all, tomorrow's the last Hogsmeade trip before Christmas."

He hadn't even realized that Christmas was approaching; perhaps this year he would actually manage to sleep through it.  His need for food had usually lured him out of the dungeons; as much as he loathed Christmas, even he was not foolish enough to pass up a Christmas dinner at Hogwarts.

"Yes," she smiled, "and I'll be able to buy everyone lovely presents this year, thanks to the money you've been giving me."

"_I_ haven't given you anything, Ayla," he replied dryly, "it's all coming out of the pockets of the tax payers of Hogsmeade.  Besides," he added, "you've earned it."

She blushed slightly.  "Thank you, Sir."  She cleared her throat, mopping up her spilt armadillo bile.  "Speaking of Christmas, Sir, I was wondering…what do you get a teenage boy?"

He raised an eyebrow.  "For someone who considers to only be friends with Mr. Weasley, you certainly think about him often."

"Who, Bill?"  She laughed.  "I already got him a present; a ticket to a U2 concert.  No, it's Charlie who I don't know what to get."

"He's a Quidditch star, isn't he?"  Severus sneered.  Gryffindors and Quidditch.  It was horrible.  Severus had been a fairly good Chaser in his day, but Slytherins never got any glory, of course.

"Seeker," she answered.  "But I think he's got every Quidditch book in the world, and I am _not_ about to buy him a broom."

He chuckled.  "I should hope I'm not paying you _that_ much."

"Not even close."  She looked thoughtful.  "I could always get him a box of candy," she said, nodding.  "That's always good."

"I think you should put that money to good use," Severus advised.  "Buy them both something expensive."

"I did for Bill," she muttered.  "Circe knows those tickets cost enough."

"You'll think of something, I'm sure."  He paused.  "Why did you ask me?"

She grinned.  "I'm assuming that you were a teenage male at one point," she said lightly.  "I could be wrong, but I very much doubt that you came out of the womb at the fully-grown."

"There are those that disagree," he said, smirking.

"Unless your father is Zeus," she replied, "I think that it is safe to assume that you went through all of the stages of childhood and such."

"Very safe."

***

"I still don't understand why you won't come visit us," Bill said as he, Charlie, and Ayla sat on the Hogwarts Express.  

"I told you I would, but only for New Year's."  Ayla was tired of explaining this to him.  She didn't want Bill knowing why she could only come then, and she always managed to skirt around the question when asked.

He sighed.  "All right," he finally said.  "But I'm expecting my present to be under the tree at the Burrow," he said.  "Find an owl."

She chuckled.  "Only interested in the loot, are we?  Honestly, you're as bad as Ron!"

Charlie laughed.  "Ron is rather gift-oriented, isn't he?"

"Incredibly.  It drives me crazy," Bill remarked.  "He's always begging me for this and that."

Ayla slapped them on the back lightly.  "Cheer up, fellows.  I bought you each fabulous things, seeing as I had an income this past term."

"Ooh, what?" Charlie asked, his face lighting up.

"If I told you," she said calmly, "it wouldn't be as much fun."

"Slytherin," he muttered angrily.

"And proud of it," she replied cheerfully.  

"We're here," Bill said suddenly, grabbing his trunk.

Ayla stiffened.  "Oh?"

"Yes."  He frowned at her.  "C'mon, get your stuff."

Very slowly, she levitated her trunk and Ea's cage off of the train.  Her guitar was still at Hogwarts; she wouldn't be playing it over the break.  She stepped onto the platform and undid the charm, sliding her trunk onto a cart.  Taking a deep breath, she crossed into the muggle world, thinking only about how much she loathed the winter holidays…

***

**A/N: I know this took a while, sorry!  Anyway, thanks to: Mrs. Scower, Starlight, Tia, Artisturtle, Ce'Nedra, and Leila C. Snape.**

**Next Chapter:  We meet Ayla's folks and find out about her home life.  Also, we realize just why she hates Winter Break so much…  
  
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: In no way, shape, or form do I wish anyone to recognize any characters found in the Harry Potter books as belonging to anyone other than J.K. Rowling, publishers such as Bloomsbury Books, Raincoast Books, Scholastic Books, or Warner Brothers, Inc. I do not own characters found in any published works, and can claim only Ayla Landau and Penny Lane at the moment, and some others that will be introduced later.******


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